Belief in Ghosts
by xx-intothewind
Summary: Jasper befriends eccentric and mysterious Edward Cullen. However, when one falls for the other, tensions arise, and the pair start to struggle. Who will break first? AH
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

I thought I could be anything I wanted to be.

You seem to think that you are on top of the world, that you can control anything you wanted to. You enjoy life, go out partying, do well in tests, and fuck with girls. You answer to no one. You have your own ambitions, dreams that are slowly on their way to becoming reality. You don't take people's feelings into account, and no one questions you. You feel immortal.

Then someone comes along, and the equilibrium is shifted. Suddenly you are vulnerable, erratic. You notice the slightest things and you think about them every moment you can find. You try to speak eloquently, but fail hopelessly. You find yourself in denial, and wonder how you got there. _How did I let this happen?_

Then the jealousy and greed seeps in. You want them to reciprocate these feelings. Inwardly, you beg them to love you, while blaming them for making you feel this way.

One wrong move changes it all, and you are sent crashing down. Everything you are falls apart.

It takes a long time to pick up the pieces.

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	2. Ignorance

_This is my first fanfic (yay!) and I'm really new to this, although I have been reading a lurking for a few months. Just wanted to say that I'm not going to promise regular updates, especially as I have exams coming up. So, please bear with me. My chapters won't be this short either, I just really wanted to get something out there, not just a 100-word prologue (although this isn't any better!) I recommend that you change your layout views to 1/2, too. Anyways, enjoy._

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_Ignorance_

I pick lazily at the newspapers. It is a Sunday, and like on most of my Sundays, nothing much is done. My eyes scan the lettering, only catching words or phrases before moving off again. Nothing is interesting.

The room is bright with the sunlight filling every corner of the room. My plants sag with malnourishment, but I'm not bothered. The constant ticking of the clock and the rustling newspaper are the only things that interrupt the comfortable silence.

I end up at the _Classifieds, _and that reminds me- I need to be looking for an apartment. I urge myself to try again, after many failed attempts. This had tired me, and to be honest, I just can't be bothered. However, I make myself do it and quickly scan the ones in my area. I find only one:

WANTED:  
Male roommate needed. Must be non-smoker, and willing to pay half the rent.  
Two bedroomed house, bathroom, kitchen, living room, study.

That is all it says. Curiosity takes over me, and I reach for the phone blindly, keeping my eyes on the advert. It was simple, not like the others I had read, which contained countless abbreviations that did not deserve my time. Then there were those who had ridiculous requirements. Seriously, I do not know what it wrong with some people in this world. Well, I chuckle silently; I would after I get my psychology degree. I sigh, and get back to the task.

There are two numbers: a house number and a mobile number. After various attempts where the owner didn't even pick up, I had learnt that mobile was always best.

The person picks up on the second ring.

_"Hello."_

Their voice takes me aback - it is smooth and articulate. I find myself slightly envying the man over the line, but manage to push my words out.

"Yeah, uh, I just saw your ad in the paper about a roommate, and I'm calling to find out the details," I reply.

_"Well what would you like to know?"_ he asks, as if I should understand everything already. I suddenly feel annoyance rising in my stomach at the ignorance of this man.

"Prices, any terms, conditions. Your name would also be nice if we're going to be living together," I say, with a slight sting to my tone, hoping it could be heard over the phone. He, however, seems unfazed. This is not a good start.

_"Price is £240 weekly if we're going to split it. Conditions are you must be male, and frankly, it sounds like you are. You must be a non-smoker, no parties without my permission, no girls more than three nights a week, no renovation without my permission. Try not to turn up drunk anytime. We can share cooking duties. And my name, _if_ we're going to be living together, is Edward Cullen," _he finished, more blunt in his response but sharper in his tone. I think I have annoyed him, and oddly, I feel guilty. I try to be more polite.

"May I come round and see it?"

_"When would it suit you?"_

"Tomorrow. After noon if possible," I reply, but then add, "Please."

_"Tomorrow's good. How about three o' clock?"_ I notice he has softened his tone.

"That's good. I guess I have your address, so… I shall see you then," I trail uneasily.

_"Looking forward to it. Bye."_

"Bye," I turn the phone away from my ear. It clicks softly - Edward has hung up. I stare at it for a few seconds, before a text message interrupts my musings.

It is from James, reminding me of the 'guys' night out' he arranged a couple of days later. I quickly jump from the sofa, giving my protesting limbs a stretch, before running upstairs to get ready, leaving the phone abandoned on my seat.

* * *


	3. Jumping

_Jumping_

The sunlight streams through the white curtains, and makes my eyes squint. My body is aching everywhere, and I have a pounding headache. I feel the steady beat of my heart in my ears, and my lips are dry. Instantly, I scold myself for the amount that I drank yesterday, and the early hours of today. My eyes are sticky. I don't want to wake up, I don't want to face the world today.

Small flashbacks come into my mind for fleeting moments, and then rush off again before I manage to pursue them. I catch small bits of dialogue. There are many brightly coloured lights, and people keep talking, too loud, so I reach to cover my ears. My limbs disapprove, and I am definitely awake now. I slowly open my eyes, still squinting. It hurts, and I cover them again. Everything in my room is yellow. I feel awful, and yet everything outside is happy. For one passing moment, I want to reprimand the world for being so happy, and then I realise I am rambling and trying to abstain from opening my eyes again. I am being stupid.

I suddenly become aware of the sleeping woman next to me. Ah, Lauren. She breathes steadily, and her fingers tangle in her limp blond hair. I think of what those fingers did to me, and smile. This game is just too easy.

I need to get up. I turn my head towards the alarm clock, but the sun reflects off the screen. Was that a three or an eight? I reach blindly for it, and shove it in front of my face, for my vision is still blurry from sleep.

Three o' four. I wonder what time I got home last night, for this was a record. I mentally make a to-do list for today. Firstly, get rid of Lauren. As a woman, she was fucking clingy. It is a Monday, and I don't have to go to university until next Wednesday. I smile. But I still need to find an apartment. Edward.

Fuck. Oh God, I was late. My eyes widen, and I shoot up from the bed. I quickly recheck the clock, wishing that it was lying, but it wasn't. It stood there, almost intimidating, blinking its little black dots.

I thrust open the wardrobe, banging it loudly against the wall. I cringe, for it was loud enough to wake Lauren. I don't care though. I need this apartment.

"Jasper, what are you doing?" Lauren's voice lazily drifts towards me, muffled from the pillow. I get irritated that she doesn't see the urgency, so I don't bother to reply.

Unfortunately, she tries again.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" her voice is clearer now. I hesitate. _Why am I in such a hurry?_ If I'm late, it's not my problem. Edward can deal with it. I slow down my actions, still ignoring Lauren.

The bed shifts, and I hear the soft trail of the sheets on the floor. I feel Lauren's presence behind me. She kisses my neck rather awkwardly, and runs a hand from my shoulder blades to the small of my back. I shiver, but I don't want to do this again.

I move off, slinging a rumpled blue t-shirt over my head. I slide on my pants, feeling her curious eyes on me. Searching for some socks, I spot my white sneakers and put them on. Then I grab my car keys, phone and wallet and stuff them in my pockets. I make myself face Lauren.

"I have to go. You can let yourself out," with that, I turn and head out of the room.

*****

Edward lives in a quiet street that is quite close to the university. His house is one of many nearly identical ones. I notice that he lives near families- most of them have MPVs, with bumper stickers saying things like 'Dad's Taxi'. I snicker at the things I'm used to doing, and I think that the neighbours would not appreciate me coming home drunk at 2am, singing _You'll Never Walk Alone _or something along the lines.

I park on the pavement, not wanting to intrude on his driveway, even though there is ample space. His Volvo stands inconspicuously, neatly parked near to the hedge. The front garden is simple, the small groups of weeds being the only sign of untidiness.

I think I'm jumping too far ahead, for I have no plan if he won't let me live here. For some reason, I think my cockiness will not work on him. He took my annoyance and threw it back in my face last night. And now I was late. Half an hour late, to be precise. With that, I suck in a breath and smile and try to get the confidence that normally comes naturally to me. I press the doorbell.

He comes almost instantly, as if he's been waiting. I see his misted body through the door panes, turning the key. His hair looks slightly long and coppery. I don't make out his face until he opens the door.

"You're late," he states bluntly, as if I haven't noticed. His voice matches his face perfectly. The sunlight highlights the reddish tones in his hair. His bronze strands partially cover his forehead, but I can see that it is creased. His face is manly, angular and sharp. His brow is not too heavy, but his jaw is rather prominent. He almost looks beautiful, I want to say, but I can't.

"Yeah, I ran into some traffic. I did want to call you, but I didn't write your number down," I say frankly, annoyed and slightly jealous of his intimidation. I'm not going to let him intimidate me.

He saw straight through it.

"Right," he chuckles with a smile. Thankfully, he decides to let it go. "Come in, and I'll show you round," he steps to allow me room. I notice his striking green eyes. They were electric.

His house smells of musk and himself. It's tidy and spacious, with only the slightest objects of his personal life showing. There were only one or two photos, only one or two books lying about. One of them was a medical journal.

The room I'm going to have is larger than my old one. It's dark blue, although I don't care much for colour. My eyes zoom in on a stereo system, and he says I'm free to use it. I also notice I have a double bed. I smile inwardly.

Then he shows me his bedroom. It is black and gold, and in one corner, a grand piano stands proudly. Music composition books are strewn on top.

"You play?"

"Well why else would I have a big brute of expensive Steinway in my room?" he replies playfully, and his eyes twinkle in the sunlight. I immediately regret asking such an obvious question.

We eventually find ourselves in the living room again. He tells me to sit.

"So, what do you think?" he asks.

"I like it. It's good, spacious, you know," is all I can muster.

"So you are going to go to the university then?"

"Yeah, a psych degree. I guess you're a med?" my elocution is nothing against his. He chuckles again.

"Yes, sorry," he picks the book up and puts in on a shelf while I wonder why he is apologising.

"I'm gonna take it," I'm amazed by the confidence in my voice. I speculate what I have just thrown myself into. Our only conversations were this one and the one on the phone. He looks surprised.

"Right. Well, I will have to send off your details. I still don't know your name," he raises his eyebrows.

"Jasper. Jasper Whitlock."

"Well Jasper, when would you like to move in? Saturday looks good," he suggests. My name sounds foreign on his tongue. I want him to say it again.

"Yeah, let's do Saturday."

And that is that. I leave feeling strangely elated, relieved. I find myself impatient for Saturday.

* * *


	4. Predictable

_Woo! I just want to thank everyone who has reviewed/alerted/favourited this story- you all make me so excited! I'm going to apologise in advance for any mistakes, I wanted to get this out as soon a possible, so I haven't proof read it.... whoops._

_Anyway, Jasper moves in...._

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_Predictable_

Once again, I am on the sofa, but this time my mind is fluttering. I think of the things we could do, and I'm unusually excited.

Edward. His name is old fashioned, and yet I didn't try to make fun of it. Moreover, I am looking forward to just living with _someone. _No matter how many girls I brought over, how many parties I had, it did get lonely, I can't deny that.

This week has trailed its heavy feet on the ground. I called Lauren yesterday. I am counting the days until I can move. I try to preoccupy myself with watering my plants, but it is hopeless. They are brown and crispy and dead. They fall apart in my hands and I end up throwing them in the bin.

I spend some time in garden, thinking. The summer air is light and breezy, not harsh and crisp. I welcome it, and take deep breaths. I try not to think about moving, but my mind wanders if I don't give it direction. I listen to songs I haven't listened to for years. I feel young again, and childhood memories come back and seize my mind. I call my mother, just for the sake of calling.

"Hello."

"Hi mum."

"Jasper? It's so good to hear from you! Is anything wrong?" the excitement is evident in her voice- I haven't called in months.

"Everything's fine. Can't I just call you to hear your voice?"

She laughs, "I'm sorry, love, you haven't called for a long time. How are you?" I suddenly feel guilty for not calling.

"I'm fine, mum, how are you?" my attempt at conversation is horrendous, but I feel awkward. After months of no contact, there isn't much to talk about besides the obvious. People have become too predicable, and I do not want to share opinions on petty subjects such as the weather. Small talk is overrated.

"Oh, let's not talk about me! Are you starting uni soon? Have you found an apartment? Please tell me you have, Jasper, because I know how you are about these things."

"Next Wednesday. And funnily enough, I have. I'll be sharing with another guy, and I'm moving on Saturday."

"Oh good. Listen, we can come down and help you pack and move. You know your father hasn't seen you in ages. It would be great, we could even go down to that old resta-"

"Mum, it's fine really. I can handle it, there's no need," I feel uncomfortable, and try to look for ways of escape.

"Oh, well never mind, we can come down another time," the hurt is evident in her voice, and my stomach clenches. I can't do this anymore.

"Mum, I have to go. Someone is calling me. I'll call you later," my words push at each other, all trying to come out at the same time. I put the phone down straight after I hear her say goodbye. There is a sinking feeling in my stomach, and my heart aches. I walk inside, embracing the coldness of the house, and reach for a bottle of Johnny Walker's whisky. I take a swig, enjoying the velvety coating it gives my throat, and take another. Before I know it, I am bored and slightly drunk.

I study the bottle. The slogan catches my eye through the fog. _Keep walking._ Through my drunken haze, I decide that will be my motto in life.

Keep walking.

******

Saturday has finally come. I awake early, and for once, I've prepared myself the night before. My house is full of boxes. Edward called two days ago and kindly asked if I wanted some help, and of course, I accepted.

I sit in the kitchen for the last time, on the polished worktop. The only sounds to be heard are my heels repeatedly banging on the side. I look around, but there is nothing to look at. My life is in a pile of boxes, taped and ready to go wherever someone takes them. My stomach tingles with the excitement, even though I am hungry. There are only two beers and all the food is gone except from some decaying mini pitta bread in the cupboard that I refuse to touch. The landlord can deal with that.

The house looks wrong without any possessions from my life in it. It doesn't look lived in, although I do not care. This was never my home, and never will be.

It starts raining, making soft_ plinks_ on the glass. I look through the window as the rain covers everything, washes everything away. It cleans everything.

I turn back and take another swig of Johnny Walker's. It burns my throat now, offering no comfort, yet I take another swig before carelessly dumping it in the bin. The glass gives out a muffled smash, and I flinch. I feel as if I should clean it up, but my muscles are aching and my head is aching and I just cannot be bothered.

My doorbell rings. It is Edward, and I impatiently jump off the counter. My palms make imprints on the worktop and I hastily try to wipe them away before turning back to the door.

He stands modestly, his cheeks a soft pink from the wind. The small droplets of water glisten like diamonds and contrast wonderfully with his coppery hair. The beginnings of a playful smile escape through his lips, and I cannot help but to notice how they meet perfectly. My stomach hurts all of a sudden, but I manage to involuntarily smile back.

"Look!" he says rather happily, without greeting, as if there is no need for one. I look to where his arms are outstretched, and standing there is a large white removal van.

"Edward," I pause, letting his name play on my lips, "You really didn't have to do that, we could have just used our cars."

"Yes, but we would have had to make several trips. Now, we can just make one. It's cheaper and it saves fuel. Trust me." I want to believe that there was some sort of double meaning to his words, but the logical side of me brushed that away almost immediately.

"Well, would you like to have a beer or something before we leave?" I try to be as polite as possible to him. He frowns.

"Sorry, I don't drink and drive," his voice quietens and all the excitement from before is gone. _Fool! _I inwardly curse myself for being so stupid, and try to backtrack as soon as possible.

"Oh, God, yes, I'm sorry, I really didn't think…Ha, beer, I can't believe I asked that," I laugh uneasily, a nervous, forced laugh. My fingers curl around themselves, stretching the skin over the knuckles. I have to stop myself from hitting my thigh repeatedly. Thankfully, he smiles and changes the subject.

"Shall we start?" I turn to let him through, and he brushes past. His smell assaults my nose, and I marvel at it before having to stop myself. He turns to face me, closer than he's ever been, grinning yet again. I take a step back, scared of the closeness, but immediately realise my mistake. His smile falters and his eyes take to the ground. He starts fiddling with his lithe fingers, twisting them this way and that. I realise that this is his way of regretting his move.

I try to make him feel more comfortable, but it has no effect. We work in an awkward silence. I wait until he comes back from the van so I can go without having to squeeze past him on the way. I think he's realised what I'm doing, so he sticks the boxes in the van as quickly as possible, without bothering to arrange them, so that I can go. I feel that anything I say will worsen the situation, so I keep my mouth closed. Occasionally, I peek through my eyelashes to see the muscles in his forearms flicker when he picks a box up. I watch him until he goes out of the door, away from my sight, and feel a strange emptiness loom over me before wondering what the hell I am doing. It still hasn't stopped raining.

******

The drive to Edward's house, to my house, is laboured. We make small talk about the songs they put on the radio, and about cars, although my knowledge isn't as good as his, and I feel envious. I want to impress him somehow, but I have no idea how. I try to think of something witty to say, but my mind fails to produce anything, and I end up keeping quiet.

We get to the house in good time. We try to unload everything as soon a possible, for the rain is more intense. The boxes are fine, but we are both soaked.

I step into the living room. It looks so much small because of all my things crowded in the corners. With a sigh, I fall onto the couch and close my eyes, letting it envelop me. The house is warm, and I want to feel at home, but I can't, because of Edward. I would be living with him, and now, the prospect scared me. The awkwardness was uncomfortable earlier today, and I don't want it to be like that all the time.

I hear footsteps, and I open my eyes. Edward shakes his hair, small raindrops flicking in every direction. He looks almost like a small boy who'd just been playing outside when he wasn't supposed to. He was smiling when he came in again.

"Tired?"

"God, yes," I chuckle.

"Well, I'm not going to cook and I doubt you're going to, so I think we deserve some pizza," he beams, and I can't stop myself from laughing at the expression on his face.

"What? It's true!" he's back, I think, he's back. The emptiness leaves my stomach, and I feel much better.

"Pizza's great," I agree.

******

We watch some sort of quiz show, although that is just background noise and I do not pay attention to it. Edward, I find, is much more interesting. He slouches on his armchair, legs spread out with a pizza in his hand. He looks so much more relaxed- I haven't seen him like this. But what am I talking about? I've only known the guy for a week, not even that.

We ask each other questions, although mine are nothing in comparison with his. He skips the normal things like age and place of birth, and goes straight onto deeper ones.

What are my religious views? I have none.

How do I feel about life? It's fucking great.

Do I believe in love? It's not for me.

I've never thought about these things before, so my answers are short and simple. I sound stupid, and only manage to ask him uninteresting questions, which he answers almost without thinking.

I feel more relaxed, and this feels like home now. Edward and me, over a slice of pizza. It feels great.

I finally think of a question to ask him, one that had been playing on my mind.

"Why did you look for a roommate?"

His eyes turn more distant, before he replies with a shrug, "I was lonely, I guess."

At night, I pull the covers up to my chin and lie there and stare at the ceiling.

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	5. Lost

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_Okay, last short chapter (hopefully). I've realised these shorties are bugging you, so I'll try and make them longer, but not right now, since exams have started! -bites nails- Had Latin and Physics today....2 down, 11 to go. Anyway, I really will try and get this story moving after the 22nd or so, but for now, this will have to do. I'm really sorry guys. _

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_Lost_

The week went by in an orderly fashion. Edward's course started two days early than mine, so I am alone now. I listen to the house breathing, and I reminisce about the past few days. After a disastrous attempt at making some spaghetti, I settle for a simple sandwich, and hastily clean up the mess I made. The weather has turned dark and gloomy, and I've never been more impatient to start university. Over the past few days, I've gotten used to being secluded, out of the way, but I'm missing the attention. I'm missing the parties, the drinking. I feel as if I'm wasting my days here, alone. When Edward comes home, it gets better.

We had worked out a routine. During the day, we stay away from each other. Edward wakes up early and goes to run, while I take advantage and sleep in. We go about our jobs on our own, occasionally making petty small talk about unimportant things. I call James and ask him about Lauren, finally giving in to my curiosity. According to him, she said she would call me, and I laugh at her utter ignorance. Edward plays his piano on a daily basis, and does a large portion of the housework. I do try to offer, but he only shakes his head in the way that makes his hair sway and grins. Then he carries on what he was doing without saying a word. I shoot him a puzzled looks for he is always peering under his eyelashes to see my reaction. Nothing, he replies and somehow manages to avoid answering the question properly all together. It puzzles me, but I decide to let it go nonetheless. I will ask him later.

He has never said what he is feeling. He has never said he was bored, tired, hungry. Nothing. Unlike me, who complains daily. I want to know what he's thinking- sometimes I see this bizarre look on his face, as if he's in a far away world. It intrigues me, but I always leave it- he doesn't seem like the person to talk openly about himself.

I finish my sandwich and feel uncomfortably full. I stroke my stomach in a vain attempt to make it stop, but of course, it doesn't work. My hands are cold.

I slump on the couch and flick through the channels. I find it hard to see how people are hypnotised by this little box, and feel the need to watch it. It's all made up, nothing is real. No one's life is that interesting.

I hear the door of the porch open, and turn awkwardly on the couch to see who it is, even though I know already. He shoves the key into the door, and opens it with such force that my eyes flinch. I catch his creased brow before he pivots and locks the door again, throwing his keys into the bowl on the shelf. His smell drifts to me.

"What's wrong?" I try to ask, but he turns towards me with such majesty, with such power that I feel naked. I shake my head in order to tear my eyes from his. Already, I regret asking for fear of what he might say. He sucks in a breath, as if he was going to state something important, lifting a finger at the same time. His brow is still creased, his jaw tense. He suddenly snaps his mouth shut and his hand falls back down to his side in defeat. He looks exhausted.

Then he stalks off towards his room, shoulders hunched, without a word. I turn back to face the television, confused. My cocky, irresponsible side gives its input. _What if he killed a patient? _Then I remember this was only his second day.

Moments later, I hear his piano, loud and assaulting to my ears. The piece is staccato and clashing- it seems as if he's just hitting random keys. The sound completely envelops the television, until I can hear it no more. I look down as my fingers fall over each other, jigging my leg nervously. I try to think up of things to do- should I go to his room? Ask him what's wrong? Maybe I should just leave it, like I always do, and let my mind reel with stories about what happened.

I feel uncomfortable around him. I would rather not be left alone with him, not be left alone with his sharp eyes and his regal posture. He holds his head like a horse, high and proud. I don't want to admit it, but I feel intimidated by his presence. I feel inferior compared to his knowledge and apparent strength. I don't even know if these qualities are true, I'm just going off first impressions. He smiles like any normal person, he makes good conversation, but I cannot relax fully. More than once have I found my shoulders tensing or my hands rubbing together. He has unconsciously given me these mannerisms.

I decide to walk into his room whether he likes it or not. I slowly push the door, the sound getting louder. He sits where I would always find him, on the piano bench. His shoulders are still hunched, hair swaying erratically with the way he moves his head with each clashing chord. I see his hands straining with the intensity of his playing. His body holds so much energy, power, that I cannot imagine how he lets it all out.

Then it clicks for me. His piano. He speaks through his piano- all of his emotions, feelings, thoughts come out of that wooden thing. I inwardly curse myself for not figuring this out sooner.

He stops suddenly, perhaps a slight shift of my weight catching his eyes. It is almost painful the way he leaves the note hanging in the air, without an end. He turns to face me, a stoic expression on his face. Did I even expect anything less?

"Are you alright?" I stutter. He blinks once.

"I'm fine," his voice is smooth again, like liqueur. It coats my ears. I wonder what to do now. Edward's eyes travel around the room, never meeting mine, giving me precious seconds to study his face. However, I quickly realise the gauche atmosphere, and ask him another question. I really don't expect him to answer, since he never does.

"What was wrong?" I make sure to use the past tense to avoid one of his witty answers.

"Nothing. Just stress," he tries to make it believable, but I can just about see through his fine attempt.

Another silence. I don't know what to say, I never know what to say. My mind is panicking, my palms sweating. We both tap our feet anxiously.

"Well, I'm cooking tonight," I blurt before thinking, reminding myself of the earlier spaghetti debacle. He meets my eyes again, and smiles.

"You can't cook, Jasper," his answer stupefies me. What does he know? He doesn't know anything, even if he is right. It was just a lucky guess.

"You don't know that!"

"But I'm right," he pauses, studying my expression. My face defies me, and I can see his features softening as he realises he was correct. His mouth breaks out into a smile. _Cocky bastard_, I laugh to myself. "I knew it. So, I'm cooking," he stands and walks into the kitchen, leaving me to follow. Abruptly, he stops and pivots around to face me. He grins, and I immediately know he's up to something.

"No. No, in fact, I'll let you cook," he smirks playfully. I open my mouth to protest, but he interrupts me. "Come on, it'll be fun! I'll show you how; I promise I won't let you set yourself on fire or something."

I can't help the small beginnings of a smile from escaping my mouth, and I think I should be offended, but I just can't bring myself to feel it. Meekly, I accept, prepared to look like an absolute idiot.

"Right, we'll make something easy. How about stir fry?"

"Sounds good."

And so we start. Or, I start, Edward laughs from the sidelines. He can't control himself when the onion makes my eyes water so much that I have to stop and wipe them up. He scolds me for putting the vegetables in the wok before the chicken, lecturing me on proper food hygiene. He manages to save the noodles from being overcooked, and somehow, we end up with a half-decent meal.

"This isn't bad, Jasper," he says, his mouth half full of noodles. "For your first time, that is," he grins. I roll my eyes and meet his green ones for a brief moment before looking back down to my food.

The dim lights accentuate his sinewy hands. The clouds grow closer and seem angry, covered by the tree that eerily scratches on the window. I feel Edward's eyes on me, and turn, but he's looking past me somewhere in the distance, so I quickly avert my eyes, and for some reason, a blush creeps up on my cheeks. I rub the back of my hand on my face and feel the heat. Edward seems oblivious.

We finish, and for once, I offer to clean up, even though it is only filling the dishwasher. Edward slouches on the sofa, so different to what he was earlier today. I join him, my nose scrunched up because my hands smell of onion and dishwasher liquid. His chest rises and falls steadily, I can see it out of the corner of my eye, and somehow, I'd rather watch him than the television. Quickly, I turn back to the little box, slightly scared of my small confession just then.

"I have a lot of respect for gay people." I turn to Edward, my eyes wide and my mind reeling. _Where did that come from?_ He catches my surprised gaze and points to the TV with his glass. I look, and true enough, there was something on the news about same-sex couples. I mutter something incomprehensible, unable to come up with an actual answer for I haven't even actually thought about it. Edward carries on.

"I mean, they're bullied and yet they're still some of the nicest people despite of what they've been through. And they're not prejudiced," he nods quietly. I'd rather not humiliate myself with a short, uneducated answer, so I quickly change the subject.

"I wonder how you actually find out you're gay."

"I'm sure you'd know. Not being into girls, liking a guy, those kinds of things. But I think most of it's to do with personality."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you think about it, I reckon that half the straight population could actually love someone of the same sex. If personality is very important for them, then I don't think it matters what gender they are. Say, their spouse's opposite counterpart," he looks at me for my reaction, but finds nothing. "I'm sorry, I'm confusing you," he smiles and makes a move to get up.

"No, wait, explain," I call. I want to take hold of his hand, but I stop myself. He hesitates before sitting down.

"Well, if they found exactly what they were looking for in a person of the same gender. Fair enough, some people wouldn't be attracted, but they would feel some kind of…connection, I guess. And it would go from there," he finishes. I open my mouth, but I can't find anything to come out. I just thought gays were gays, and that was the end of that. I can only agree to his thinking.

"I guess," I reply shyly. I feel out of my depth talking about this. Edward senses this, and turns around. He sits stiffly, hands fidgeting again, eyes downcast. I can't say anything to make this situation better, but I don't want to shrink into myself like I always do, for I found out that it just makes Edward more nervous. And I didn't want that, because were we ended up back to square one again. Edward loses what confidence he seems to have very quickly. I don't know whether it's just with me, I haven't met his friends yet. Sometimes he seems lost, and it takes a while for me to find him again.

* * *


	6. Nothing

_I think the short chapters will have to continue, sorry, I just find it very hard to write pages and pages in a short space of time. Plus I think you'd prefer having a shorter time in between updates. _

* * *

_Nothing_

The first day of university. I drag myself out of bed, thankful that the horrid ringing of the alarm clock had stopped. That is the worst sound in the world. Steadying myself on the table, I wait for the blood to rush back down to my body before grabbing whatever is closest and pulling it over my head. I am slightly delirious from sleep, so I stumble over my still-unpacked suitcase towards the door. My foot catches, and suddenly the floor is flying at my face, causing a terrible racket as my body crashes half onto the hard surface and half onto the suitcase. A groan comes from my throat as pain flares down my chest, and I curse myself. I peel myself from the suitcase, struggling to catch my breath, and I let myself lie on the cold, hard laminate, my hand clutching my chest. My heart is in my ears, and my chest throbs silently. The red mark is already floating to the surface.

Moments later, Edward rushes in, hair dishevelled and lips swollen, still in his pyjamas. His eyes grow wide, and I smile because he looks so sweet in that moment. He stands at the door, his fingers playing on the handle, unsure of whether to approach me or to keep back. My smile turns into a laugh, even though it pains me to do so. He smiles too, and takes a few steps until he is looking over me, offering me his hand. My stomach clenches and I cannot help the smile from fading.

He is so beautiful. His hair flops down onto his strong brow and his smile is sincere and honest. I cannot look at it, I just can't. I feel as if my breath is taken away, but that cannot be true because I do not find him beautiful. I don't. So I get up, my chest protesting, and it takes all of my power not to stifle another groan. I forbid my eyes to look at him- I don't want to see his green ones, I don't want to see the hurt on his face. They don't listen however, and I can't stop them from searching his face. His mouth opens slightly, and he is looking down again, a shadow of the figure he was just a second ago. My fingers clench, and I feel sick, although I don't even know why.

"I'll be out in a second," I mutter with a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. It sounds like an order, it sounds cold and dismissive. He takes that at his queue to leave and, with a curt nod, he turns, closing the door quietly. I watch the nape of his neck, where the hair is even softer. His eyes never meet mine again- even when he turns around to close the door, they look down.

He leaves me alone, watching the door and somehow wishing he would come back. I don't know what to do, and I fall onto the bed, my hand still clenched. I hit my thigh, wishing myself to feel something else, punishing myself. Warm streaks run down my cheeks, turning cold as they reach my chin. I wipe the back of my hand on my cheeks just as I did the night before. The tears are running freely- I try to stop them, but I can't, I keep crying silently. I honestly don't know why, but I am weeping as if I'm a child again. There is something clawing at my insides. I have been reduced to _this_.

I laugh silently because that is the only thing I can think of. My brows furrow as I try to comprehend my impulsive outburst. _Get a grip_. The late nights caused this. The sudden change of surroundings, and- do I miss my mother? Possibilities fly around my head and I can't seem to choose just one, so I settle on a combination and decide that I'm going to visit my parents next week. Yes, that will work.

I quickly compose myself again, ashamed of my sudden mood. I shake my head; it is nothing. This is nothing. Edward is nothing.

I walk out after making sure there was no evidence of my breakdown. My eyes were slightly puffy, but that could be blamed on the lack of sleep. Edward is cooking something that smells delicious. I make an effort to act normally, but then I realise that that is the cause of the problem anyway. He smiles back, but I can see in his eyes that he's still embarrassed.

"I made some for you, I don't know if you like it, you don't have to eat it," he mumbles uneasily, but it's to be expected.

I try to reassure him with a smile, "Edward, anything you cook is good, honestly." And I am being honest. He smiles back, and offers the pan to me. I make sure to take less than half, leaving enough for him. He never takes all of it.

I don't know where to look; Edward fills most of my view. _We are going to have to change this seating arrangement_. I feel green eyes on me, but he's looking right past me again, at something in the distance. I take a sudden interest in my breakfast.

******

Edward waited for me to get ready, which was peculiar as we weren't going in the same cars and nor did we have the same classes. We agreed to meet up for lunch.

I drive with the radio on rather loud, hoping it would drown out the conflicting thoughts pushing through my mind. Even though I told myself I had already made a decision on my emotional outburst, I couldn't help niggling thoughts passing through. What other reasons were there though?

******

I arrive in good time, which is unlike me. While I walk to my lecture, I continue my thinking session, even if I don't know where I'm going or where I'm going to finish up. Girls flounder about in their increasingly short skirts trying to enhance their fake-tanned legs and I remember when I would be sucked in by their smiles. Maybe I still do, I'm not sure. I don't feel like having someone there- I feel content just being alone.

I'm one of the first ones to reach the lecture theatre, so I take a seat towards the back, out of the way. I don't know what else to do, so I take out a pad and start drawing. My eyes follow the lines, just random, swirling lines. My fingers feel uncomfortable drawing, and a little rusty. I soon get bored for I don't know what to draw. My eyes scan the theatre, and I focus on an apple on somebody's desk. Out of sheer boredom, I draw that, not bothering to look back up at the object. I get carried away, and draw branches and leaves, imagining the whole thing as if it was real. I stop and hold the drawing in front of me, squinting slightly. I'm proud of it- it looks realistic. Maybe I could show it to Edward.

Thinking his name was a mistake. I'm reminded of the previous events this morning, and I can't stop thinking about the look on his face. I wonder what his hand would fe-

"That looks good." I almost don't hear it because I'm too far in, but it's there, light and girly. Lifting my head, I turn to face the woman looking over my shoulder. She nods her head towards the drawing, her long black locks swaying and catching the light in a brilliant blue hue. I can only smile and mutter a small thanks. She flashes a dazzling smile before asking, "May I sit here?" I don't know what to say- I can't refuse her, she was too polite for that. She could take my mind off things. So I move my bag and smile genuinely for her to sit. I try to focus ahead, but I can feel her presence and I try to watch out of the corner of my eye. Her forearm is dangerously close to mine; the heat slowly drifts to my own.

A loud laugh reverberates from the large walls, and I turn, even though I already know who it is. James saunters in, closely followed by Laurent and Alec. He scans the crowd and spots me, giving me a large wave.

"Yo, Jasper!" The students turn again, this time to face me. Before a couple of weeks, I would have smirked and replied, but this time I smile uneasily.

"Hey," my reply is quiet. James drops down in the seat next to me, already noticing the girl on my right. He leans over, one hand resting on the desk, and looks straight into her eyes.

"My name's James," he smirks in a voice that is too sultry for this time of day.

"Maria," her smile is tense, and she immediately sits up straighter. I don't want her to leave. James winks and turns back to the front, wagging his eyebrows when he was sure Maria wasn't looking. I don't bother to reply; instead, I turn to Maria and try to give her a reassuring smile. _Stay._ She puts her hands back on the table, and I feel inexplicably happy.

******

Lunch comes too early than I would have liked, and I invite a coy Maria to eat with us. I hope Edward brings friends, as I feel sorry for Maria, surrounded by a bunch of guys. I try to make her more comfortable, but James makes this almost impossible. We sit at the table, waiting for Edward, and I'm dreading it.

I hope the atmosphere between Edward and me doesn't rear its ugly head. I'm worried as to how low Edward's opinion of James will be- he most certainly will not like him, and somehow, I want to please Edward.

Maria sits beside me quietly, her lithe fingers tapping on the table. I want to tell her to stop, but I refrain.

The wind whips around my neck, making my hairs stand on end. I snuggle into my coat, and throw another smile to Maria before looking into the distance. And there he is.

His strides are long and slow, hands thrust into his pockets, his collar up. His hair had been battered into even more disarray by the cruel wind, but it made his cheeks rosy. He smiles when he sees me. All of the heads turn toward him, and I don't know why, but I'm smiling.

"Everyone, this is Edward- my roommate." James looks up and then down, before finally holding his hand out.

"I'm James," I can see the ligaments in his hand straining for he's putting so much power into the handshake. The fight for alpha male has already started. Edward only gives a curt nod and mutters his name, seeming completely unfazed by James' attempt. His expression is stoic now, and I cannot help but wonder what he has against James. He just met the guy.

Maria shuffles closer to me, hoping that I would not notice, but I notice everything these days.

"This is Maria." Edward's smile falters slightly, just enough for me to see. My brows furrow in confusion, but he doesn't see it- he's greeting Maria.

The lunch continues slowly- James averts his eyes towards Edward every so often, but Edward just stares right back. I flit between the two, trying to work out the invisible war between them. No else seems to notice. Maria sits ever closer to me, brushing my arm every time she moves. I wonder where her other friends are because she can't be alone.

"How about we all go out tonight?" James speaks up. His eyes are on me and there's a wicked gleam in them. I'm up for some mischief, so I agree. Then he turns to Edward.

"You too, mate."

"Well, I'm not sure, I thin-"

"Nope, can't refuse. We're all going," James butts in, and Edward snaps his mouth shut and tenses his jaw, but James is oblivious.

"Oh, come on, Edward, live a little," I attempt to persuade him. His eyes are suddenly on me, sharp and piercing. The power he possesses is there again- I want to take my statement back. However, his lips part and he looks down before addressing me.

"Fair enough." I feel as if I have hurt him. He doesn't look at me again, and guilt ghosts over my spine. When we part, I watch his back, somehow hoping that he would turn around and I could apologise.

_For what though? _There is nothing to apologise for.

* * *


	7. Leaves

_Leaves_

I plan to question him. I am going to ask him what he has against James. I'm not going to get intimidated by him. I'm not sure why this matters so much to me, but it does. I pace around the kitchen as I'm too restless to sit. My feet draw random paths on the kitchen floor, waiting for the porch door to open so I can get this over and done with. Fingers slide over each other as I try to conjure up a valid explanation for Edward's behaviour.

The familiar sound of the key turning in the lock reaches my ears, and my chest feels lifted and I start smiling, although I don't understand why so I quickly stop. Edward beams at me.

"Hello," he says while throwing his bag over his head in what seemed like a well-practised manoeuvre.

I swallow and nod a polite hello before jumping in at the deep end. "So what's with you and James?" He stops and raises one eyebrow- I can't help but smirk, so much so that I almost forget about the task at hand.

"Me and James?" he asks as if he didn't hear properly. I nod. "There is nothing _with _me and James, as you put it," his tone is casual, but I feel there's a slightly whisper of annoyance.

"Because today it seemed like there was something between you." His movement falters slightly and he keeps his eyes down as he answers me.

"Why do you think that?" I know now that he is lying because of his blatant ignorance for the situation. He knew what he was doing today; he just doesn't want to admit it. Or he doesn't want to tell me. This thought brings some kind of weird feeling in my stomach, but I ignore it.

"You were just so cold. Don't tell me I'm stupid, because I'm not, I saw you," my anger rises, although I can't comprehend why. The way I say it makes it sound like an insult, like sarcasm. Then I realise it is because of his intimidation, his secrecy. None of which were actually his fault. I quickly calm myself before speaking again, "Look, if you don't want to meet us for lunch then that's fine. I don't want you to come just because I asked you to." _Just because you pity me_.

He looks at me fully, lips parted in dismay. He blinks for a couple of seconds- he looks hurt. The silence is deafening- there are just the two of us, standing far apart, waiting. Waiting for something that will never come.

"Why do you think I wouldn't want to meet you? I don't know what you saw today, but I've just met James. There's nothing between us, I don't even know him. He seems alright," he finishes. "Of course I want to meet you," his tone turns softer, and I revel in it. Somehow, everything is forgotten. I don't press for any more information, and he doesn't bring it up. We go about our routines as normal. I ask him for his opinion on a shirt for tonight- he chooses the darker one.

I meet him in the living room when he comes down. He's strikingly beautiful. I felt more comfortable calling him that now; any other word would have been an insult. It still bothers me though. It wasn't natural for a man to call another man beautiful. A woman, yes. Calling a man beautiful suggests things.

He wears a simple white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. It looks like he has tried very hard, but at the same time, it looks like he threw on the first thing he touched. For a fleeting moment, I feel like I'm waiting for my prom date or something along the lines. Then I laugh at my position.

We drive in my car. He looks too proper, too regal to be sitting in my car, with random papers strewn about and empty Coca Cola bottles in the back seat.

Edward stretches his legs out in front of him, and rests his head on the seat- he looks tired, his eyelids half drawn over his eyes and his head slowly swaying to the movement of the car. I regret encouraging him to come with us. In retrospect, it almost seems like I had bullied him into it, or something I had said struck a nerve and forced him to come. I almost contemplate turning around and dropping him off at home, and going alone. However, a part of me wants him to be there. The part that would wonder what he was doing had he not come with us. So I sit silently, waiting for him to talk should he want to.

"Have you ever been to this club?" The part about me waiting silently does not work, and I quickly succumb to the temptation of talking to him. Edward turns his head towards me, a playful smile on his lips.

"No. Have you?"

I ignore his question completely. "Do you go out a lot?"

"Define 'a lot'," he's having some fun with me. I smile, because I want him to be happy.

"Are you suggesting something, Edward?" I smirk at him.

"Well maybe I am," he puts an arrogant voice on, which I haven't heard him do. I wallow in his playfulness, enjoying the easy, light banter between us. This is how it was meant to be. He finally answers my question.

"I don't go out as many times as you. Sometimes I see the entertainment, but when you have no one to go out with, it becomes hard."

"Didn't you have friends?" I'm intrigued by his confession.

"Oh, I had friends."

"Then what was the problem?"

"It wasn't fun. They were obsessed with girls; I was obsessed with my piano. It doesn't work." I don't know what to add to that. I decide to push him for more information.

"What makes you think this will be different?" I prepare myself for his unwilling reply.

"Maybe it will be." That's all he offers, and I gladly take it. My heart swells at the idea that he feels comfortable with me, and I can't stop myself from smiling. He turns and sees me, and out of the corner of my eye, he's smiling too.

******

We meet James and company on a secluded table. I look at the surroundings.

The dim lights erase any imperfections. This is a competition, a hunt. Men come here to see what they can find, likewise with the women. This is where arrogance and vanity perform at their best.

Maria is there too, in a tight black dress. Her make up enhances her high cheekbones and long eyelashes. She is beautiful tonight, and I can't help but flash a smile towards her.

"Yo, Jasper!" James meets me with his usual greeting. Then he turns towards Edward. He pulls him into a hug. Edward immediately tenses up- his jaw is closed shut, and the discomfort is clear in his eyes. I smile apologetically, but he doesn't return it. James releases him, proud of his little achievement.

"So, drinks. Shots for everyone, eh?" It was more of a statement than a question. James leads us into the night. He stands to go to the bar, since he has realised that he will pass more women walking through the club than just flagging down a waitress.

"No, I'll just have a beer," Edward's voice lifts through all the people, strong and clear. His face is set.

"You can't have just a beer, come on, Eddie." Edward grimaces, and repeats his previous statement. He's not taking anything from James. James puts his hands up in defeat, smirking lightly again, before he turns around and heads into the crowd.

Maria is oblivious, hooks her arm through mine and shuffles ever closer. Since when did we cross the physical boundaries? Maybe she had none. I feel uncomfortable at her closeness. We have only known each other for a few hours, and yet she feels she knows me well enough to act as if we're together. She whispers something I cannot hear, so I ask her to repeat.

I feel Edward's eyes on me before he's forced to listen to something Alec is explaining. He's not interested- he's smiling, but a smile can mean so many things. It doesn't even make his eyes wrinkle like they normally do. He nods every occasionally and pretends that he's taking it all in, when really, he's thinking about something else. I know. I've been there.

"Dance with me," her ghost of a whisper slides into my ears. I flinch slightly at her proximity; her mouth is so close to my ear. I can feel her steady breaths touching my skin. I can't refuse her. She's good.

I stand and offer her my hand. She wraps her soft fingers in mine, and we walk together to the dance floor. All the while, I feel Edward's piercing eyes on me.

This time Maria takes my hand, and my body moulds to hers. We're in a sea of people, but I only hear her. I run my hands freely down her sides, and she leans back and rests her head on my shoulder. Our cheeks touch slightly, soft, milky skin against harsh stubble. Her hair tickles my neck, and she touches my face with her soft hands again. I watch her soft lips, slightly parted and full. I see her cheeks are flush, even in this light. We sway in time with the music, ignoring the fact that we're in a public place- it's just us.

Green eyes are on our bodies. Edward holds his beer lightly, forearms resting on the table. He turns when he sees me looking. He pretends to strike up a conversation with Laurent. He takes a long drink of his beer. But I'm still looking at him. His actions are fascinating to me.

The end of the song wakes me from my musing, and I step back and lead Maria to the table. James immediately looks between Maria and me, and comes to some sort of absurd conclusion in his head. First impressions are always incorrect.

I'm forced to sit next to Edward, and I think about making Maria sit between us, but I remember that Edward's extremely observant, and it would surely upset him. I had spent enough time doing that this week.

We sit closer than we ever have before. I notice the brown hairs and the spotted birthmarks. There is a small scar on his wrist. His hands possess no blemishes. He doesn't turn to me.

"I need the toilet," Edward says abruptly. I reluctantly move from my position next to him to let him out. His smell almost makes me close my eyes, and my stomach tenses inexplicably. I don't know what this is.

I watch his back as he leaves me again. It is one I have seen all too many times. When he returns, the air is pregnant with a heavy tension that wasn't there before. James breaks the silence.

"You have a girlfriend, Ed?" Edward looks down before replying, playing with his fingers.

"No."

"No? Well, we can help you with that," James smirks and looks toward Alec and Laurent, who have been submissive for the night. Gathering supporters.

"What if I've already met somebody?" Something hits me, I can't see what. I feel wrong. I feel almost betrayed that Edward wouldn't tell me if he met a girl. I shake my head- I'm being too cynical.

"Oh, you have?" James sneers. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"No one you know." Now he has piqued my attention. I am desperately curious just for the sake of knowing. I didn't know Edward very well in terms of facts, in terms of the stuff you find out first. I know where he stands with homosexuality. I know what he thinks of religion. I know that underneath his tall exterior, he is a vulnerable boy. Now I collect every piece of information I hear about him and store it within me.

James tries to uncover Edward's secret girlfriend twice more before he finally admits defeat. When Edward wants to keep something to himself, he does.

We say hardly anything on the drive home. Maria waves me a sad goodbye. I wonder if she resents Edward because she didn't get to take me for a couple more hours. When we get home, we don't know what to do with each other. It is too late to watch anything decent on television. Edward leaves without a word after a few minutes of my reading the newspaper.


	8. Snails

_Snails are misunderstood._

_

* * *

_

Snails

The newspaper lies abandoned in front of me. I'm distracted, too far in to realise anything happening around me. Not that anything is. My fingers tap restlessly against my jeans, and I watch the ligaments in my hand flicker and rest with each movement of my fingers. The movement fascinates me, and I almost forget that Edward is somewhere in the garden, alone. After tonight, I'm not sure I want to ask for his company, but I miss his presence more than my fear of him, so I decide to go.

The moon sits inconspicuously against the royal blue sky, casting everything in an eerie glow. The wind grips my body, making my arms come out in goose bumps. My hair blows in front of my face, tickling my eyes. The shadows look peculiar under the dim light.

He sits on a plain white garden chair. He's too noble to sit on a plastic chair.

The planes of his face shine, as does his hair. The moon makes him look almost ghostly, pale white in appearance. He's pouting, as he normally does when he's concentrating and I notice he's unbuttoned the top of his shirt, exposing his neck fully and enabling his collar bones to peek out. The muted light brings out his lips, and makes the curves of his face more prominent. He clasps the beer bottle next to him and drinks.

I stand foolishly just outside of the door, almost so I can be ready to make a run back to the sanctuary that is my bedroom.

"It's a beautiful night," his voice rolls towards my ears, velvety and articulate. I feel comfortable- his voice is safety. I don't reply. I don't want to spoil this.

"Pity that people want to spend it in clubs." He's angry at me for dragging him to this club, I knew it. Guilt is an emotion I've met all too well during the past few days.

"I'm sorry Edward, I shouldn't have made you come, I honestly didn't know that-" He turns and beams at me- even in this light, I can see he's beautiful. I stop talking, because I want to keep this moment.

"It's fine Jasper, honestly. And no, I should be apologising, that comment wasn't directed to you. I meant it generally. Besides, we're here now," he turns to the front again, and I find myself missing his face. I'm not sure how to approach this, so I just settle for fidgeting with my hands and taking the occasional peak at Edward to see if he'd notice.

Snail tracks on the floor catch my eye. They go over each other, each one a different path than the next. The light manages to catch their hues brilliantly, and they sparkle magnificently. I had never spotted them before. Their phosphorescence is beautiful.

Here I am, talking about snail tracks to avoid talking to Edward. I speculate on what has made me stoop this low, before I catch Edward looking at me amusedly. I smile.

"What?"

"Your facial expressions are very interesting. Penny for your thoughts?"

"I'm afraid it's more than a penny, Edward," I regret not telling him, but I decide to retain a slight part of mystery.

He completely changes the subject. "Snails are cute."

The sound that emanates from me is the most embarrassing one I have heard. I manage to control my hysteria and laugh loudly for he is truly unpredictable. Of all the things Edward is inclined to say, that has probably the least chance of the all. Snails are cute?! Oh, I can't stop laughing, and I realise that this is the funniest moment I have had in a long time. With Edward, talking about snails. I feel the sure warmth of a tear, running down my cheek; I don't know what it is, but I immediately know it isn't from the laughter. I make myself stop, although Edward seems oblivious. I wasn't going to cry in front of him in any state. He sits quietly with a smirk on his face, observing me the whole time.

"Are you quite finished, Jasper Whitlock?" I expect it to be scornful, but he's still smiling that playful smile where one corner of his mouth is higher than the other and you see the slight sparkle of his white teeth.

"Yes," I manage to choke out between sniggers.

"That wasn't meant to be funny, you know," he tries to keep a stoic expression, but the beginnings of a laugh are escaping, and he can't stop himself so he laughs right along with me. And I don't know why we find it so funny- it may be the drink, or the air. But here we are, laughing with each other, all the tension dissolving. My stomach is starting to hurt and my eyes are watering, but I don't care because I'm here with Edward. My vision blurs because of the tears, their soft plinks drowned out by our chuckles.

I love these moments with him the most.

"Come on, lets go find some," Edward speaks up when we regain control of ourselves.

"Find what?"

"Snails."

"No, they're slimy and wet," I whinge, pulling a face. "And it's past midnight, Edward, where the hell do you think you're going to find one at this time of night?"

He just smiles. "Come on," and suddenly, he has taken hold of my wrist. His warm hand is firm and strong, nearly encircling my whole wrist. I tense at the contact, and find myself watching our hands the whole time he is leading me to the bushes. His lithe fingers, his soft palm, the light brown hairs that are hardly visible. There is something, something there. I want to feel his skin against mine. I stop.

"Everything alright, Jasper?" His hand leaves mine, and I miss the warmth. I don't know what to say, how to react.

"Er, yeah, I'm fine. A bit dizzy, you know, probably from laughing," I attempt to smile. "I'm just going to get some more drinks, you want anything?" A confused look washes over his face before he replies with a tentative yes.

In the kitchen, I don't think, I just do. I refuse to speculate on what happened now, for I would probably get into a lengthy discussion with myself, and I didn't want Edward suspecting anything. That would make things worse.

I walk back out into the harsh night with two bottles. Edward sits on the plastic chair, admiring a snail walking on his hand, exploring. I'm actually interested as to where he manages to find these things. He looks like a small boy, so intrigued, so I take my time to watch him until he looks up and smiles when he sees me.

"How can you have that thing on your hand? It's slimy."

"Snails are very misunderstood, Jasper. Now give me your hand."

"What? No!" I retreat slightly, repulsed at the though of having a piece of jelly crawling on my hand. His smirk only intensifies, and now I'm scared.

"Contrary to popular belief, they don't bite, Jasper," he says sarcastically, and then holds out his hand. I don't want to touch him again for fear of another reaction. I can't face that today, I can't face that any day. Genuine fear grips me at the thought of what this could be, what this is. I'm not ready, and I don't think I ever will be.

However, Edward makes that decision for himself, and like earlier, his fingers curl around mine. Before I can wallow in his touch, he plonks the snail, and I can feel now is the slimy creature on the back of my hand, but Edward's hold is so much more prominent. I try to move away, but his grip is strong, so I don't succeed.

"Now, now, Jasper, we can't have little Alfie hurting himself, can we?" I turn, perplexed.

"What?" I say slowly, and I'm sure the disbelief is clear on my face.

"He's called Alfie. Don't you think that suits him?" My eyes find the creature on my hand, lightly tickling me. His eyes fully stretch out, and for a brief moment, I actually sympathise with the little mite.

"Please get him off, Edward." Edward smiles before peeling the snail from my skin, leaving a cold patch. I can't think of where to wipe the slimy stuff; certainly not on my clothes. My eyes look around, but there aren't any napkins or any material whatsoever that I can use. I find Edward, gently putting the snail back on a tree. Instinct takes over. Before I realise my impulsive actions, I stride towards him and wipe my hand on his shirt. His crisp, white shirt.

He turns and smiles at me, before working out that he indeed has snail slime on his shirt. His smile falters, and his face turns into a glare, eyes narrowing and mouth tensing. He turns his body so that he is fully facing me. His imposing posture and angry expression confirm that I've overstepped the line here, and guilt rises to my mouth. I line up my apologies so that, one by one, I can plead for Edward's forgiveness.

However, he smirks and folds his arms. I step back; he steps forward.

"You are so dead," he whispers, and while I'm at awe at his proximity, his smell, there is something telling me that I should run. Flight over fight. I certainly was not going to confront Edward, especially as I had no chance of winning.

As quick as lightning, I pivot and shoot off down the garden, thinking that I'll figure out my escape when I get to it. I was a fair runner in my school days, always near the top of the list, especially in short distances. The garden really was a short distance.

I was nearing the edge fast- I had little or no chance getting past Edward, unless I jumped over the fence, but I really didn't want to take it that far. I can't stop smiling while I push my muscles.

Suddenly, I can't move my legs. Something catches them, presumably Edward, and I topple to the wet grass, the dew soaking through my shirt. The wind is knocked out of me with the impact of the ground, but I'm not hurt like I was in my room. The weight is still on my legs and I turn just in time to see Edward roll of them and onto the grass. His chest quickly pulsates with his laughing, and he scoots along the grass up to my head. I cringe at the thought of how dirty his shirt would be. He, however, seems to not care as he continues to laugh. I can't help smiling myself- it appears that the whole snail debacle has been forgotten.

I turn to stare at the dark sky rather than Edward. His hand touches mine between us, and I want nothing more than to take it in my again and feel that warmth. His laughter bubbles off until we are silent, lying together on the wet grass.

I catch every movement he makes, from the slight pout of his lips to the shift of his leg. I'm scared, scared for myself. Deciding to plunge into the abyss, I turn my face to look at him. The grass tickles my cheek, filling my nostrils with the smell of autumn.

The moon illuminates his face softly, making it glow in stark contrast to his bronze hair. I want to feel if it is really as soft as it looks. I continue to study the outline of his face starting from his brow, over the curve of his nose, past those lips, around his chin and down to his neck. He senses me, and turns with a smile that makes his whole face light up, right down to the little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. His hair flops over his brow, and I want nothing more than to push it away, to skim my fingers over his forehead. That sends shocks down to my stomach.

This is confirmation. Confirmation that there is something. I want to laugh and cry at the same time, I want to touch him and push him away. I want him to provoke me.

"You know, this is the most fun I've had in a long time," he whispers, his voice stroking my ears. My heart soars at his words. I want him to have fun with me. I decide not to answer, rather to watch his breathing out of the corner of my eye, and not delve too far into the nature of my fascination. I can feel the wetness of the grass soaking through my shirt like a blooming flower, but I couldn't care less. Edward's hand is dangerously close to mine- I can almost feel the heat coming off it. If I just moved, maybe a centimetre or two, then we would be touching. Touching.

He takes his hand away from mine to brush the lock of hair from his forehead, and I find myself missing it. Moreover, I wanted to brush that hair away myself. However, when he returns his hand, he positions it in such a place that his fingers skim over my skin, and rest there. Oh, Edward. The heat from his hand is unmistakeable, and I smile because he doesn't move it.

I contemplate on how we got here, lying on the grass beneath the stars, our skin touching. A couple of hours ago, I was feeling guilty and in the shadows. Feeling inferior to Edward. Now, we were lying together at some ungodly hour in a scene that seems unreal.

Sadly, it is time to go. We stand up; well, Edward jumps up and offers me his hand. This time I take it. God, yes, I take it just to feel that warmth again. I end up close to him, and he flashes me another smile. We turn to walk back to the house, but Edward surprises me by slinging his arm over my shoulders and pulling me to him slightly. He laughs, a clear, carefree laugh, and strolls back with me under his arm. My mind, my body, is reeling, but I'm careful to keep it beneath the surface. His touch, slightly brushing the back of my neck, sends shivers ghosting down my spine, while the butterflies in my stomach make their presence known. My heart speeds up; I can almost hear it myself. Edward doesn't notice any of this, but drops his arm as the door isn't wide enough for us to pass through together. I miss his skin.

I turn back towards him to see him one last time today. "Oh, Edward? Me too," I leave him to ponder my statement, and head towards my bedroom. He doesn't follow. And this time, I'm not regretting anything.

But as soon as the door is shut, the tears start to fall and I'm on my bed, fully clothed and curled around myself. There is a harsh pain in my stomach, clawing at my skin. My body convulses because I'm not gay, I can't be. This isn't real. At least I don't want it to be. I want the wife, the children and the dog. I promise, God, I promise that I won't use women ever again.

My pillow is soaked from the tears. I can't stop them, and I start sobbing. Cries emanate from my throat. I feel like a child. My mind rushes to Edward, thinking of what he is doing right now. I ponder whether he feels something for me, but quickly brush that off because that is stupid. I clench my fists, but I'm still weeping. My heart feels forlorn and heavy. A part of me wants this, I know it does. The part that watches Edward from a distance, that revels in his touch.

My nails are inviting. I want to drag them down my arm, to shake myself out of this. Something tells me there is no way out.

I'm not sabotaging this friendship with Edward, I don't want to leave this house. Even though abandoning these feelings seems like the easy way out, I want every day to be like tonight. I can't end this friendship. It means too much to me.

He means too much to me.

* * *


	9. E Minor

_Rightio, guys, lots of things to say. _

_First of all, I must thank you all for the reaction to the last chapter! Thank you so much to all of you who follow this story, you truly make my day sometimes. I think I got like 24 reviews for the last chapter alone, which may not seem a lot, but it's a big jump! Thank you!!_

_Secondly, all songs and titles belong to their respective authors. The song Edward plays was originally meant to be La Campanella by Liszt, but I decided Edward wasn't that good. Yet. But check out that song too, if you're into classical. The song he plays is Comptine d'un Autre Ete - l'Apres Midi (put accents where needed) by Yann Tiersen, which is truly one of my favourites because it sounds beautiful and is actually not that hard to play. _

_And last but certainly not least, Muse are legends. _

* * *

E Minor

I wake in a tangled mess of sheets. I'm fully awake, fully aware, but I make no move to get up. To be frank, I don't want to. My mind reels at yesterday's events, my pillow still slightly wet. The rosy dawn curls over me but I shake it off because I don't want anyone's comfort. The numb sensation fills me, so that I look at yesterday with cynicism. I don't know what to think.

I feel slightly jealous that Edward can go about his normal duties without any disturbance while I have to watch my every move. Every time I close my eyes, he is there, etched on the underside of my lids, smiling in the soft glow of the moonlight. I did not dream last night.

There is an unmistakeable weight in my chest, almost pinning me to the bed. My alarm rings once again, but I was awake long before I needed to. Smacking the offending object, I almost throw it across the room before I manage to restrain myself. Edward is opening cupboards, making breakfast in the kitchen.

_How did I get here?_ I fingers curl toward each other again, tendons straining. The red marks on the insides of my arms are all too prominent now, and I am going to have to wear long sleeves today, despite the scorching sun. I skim my fingers over them, producing a dull sting. The warm tears start again, although now they are soft in contrast to last night's violent ones.

I am calmer now, and I can speculate on what I'm going to do next. I search my mind, but unfortunately, I come up with nothing. I could pretend that it is nothing; that yesterday meant nothing. I could ignore the butterflies and the yearn for Edward's skin, but I do not have the strength. A part of me wants to see what happens, but I am afraid. These days, I am a mixture of swirling emotions, and I never know which one is going to float to the surface.

The soft padding of footsteps brings me out of my reverie. Edward knocks on the door. I quickly wipe the tears from my eyes.

"Jasper?" His voice is soft and muffled from the other side of the door.

"Yes?" I cringe at my tentative reply, my voice husky from sleep.

"It's nearly ten to eight, we've got to leave."

"I'll be out in a minute," I close my eyes and wonder what to feel. He walks away, back down to the kitchen again while I groggily heave myself from my bed, clutching the bedside table for support.

I sit for a few minutes, listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen. My mind immediately wanders to Edward- every spare moment is used up to contemplate on how I would- or would not- get out of this situation.

I make my way to the door, but my fingers linger on the handle, hesitant to face Edward. Pursing my lips in order to gather my courage, I open the door.

He smiles a good morning when he sees me, but I quickly sit. I eat in a painful silence, eager to get back to the safety of my room. Edward doesn't notice, and takes it as an invitation to talk my ear off about an up coming trip with the university. However, he realises that my nods are fake, and soon stops, taking a sudden interest in his breakfast.

I clear up for the both of us, leaving Edward to get ready. I catch his finger awkwardly when I take his bowl and almost gasp. Concealing the mishap with a stumbling sorry, I walk away before I have a chance to see his brilliant smile.

I am just about to get into my car before I hear his velvety voice again.

"Jasper! How about we take my car today? My class finishes just before yours." He's wearing a short sleeved top, something I haven't seen him wear before, and I find it hard to peel my eyes from his forearms, which look smooth. I envy him and the soft shadows on his arms, the light dusting of brown hair. My eyes travel down to his hands where he is fiddling with his keys, his long fingers manipulating them this way and that. I can't deny him- I want to get closer to him. I'm a risk taker, but I trust myself not to go too far with this one. I couldn't, for I would realise when I was stepping over the line.

With a shy smile, I walk towards him and get in. His smell circles me, making me involuntarily clutch my body in the hope that my arms could magically turn into his. I love his scent. Something between cinnamon and apples and musk flooded the car, my stomach contracting because of it. I had never encountered it before, but it mesmerised me.

"You cold?" he smiles, and proceeds to turn the heating up. I catch him in time.

"I'm fine, honestly." A part of my wants to grasp his hand and stop it from going towards the dial, but I manage to restrain myself and just use my voice. He complies with another smile and we head off towards university.

One of my favourite songs comes on, so I start mouthing the words. I catch Edward glimpse at me before grinning. There was something that made me smile about catching Edward looking at me.

"You like Muse?" he says, and I can almost see the escaped beginnings of a grin.

"I love Muse!" I barely manage to contain my excitement at the discovery of common ground.

"Well, good." Then he turns up the volume as I watch his lithe fingers, soft and gentle. I can't stop smiling about the fact that he likes a band that I likes, and when I realise this, I make myself stop, not matter how much I protest internally. Wanting to find out more, I press for questions.

"Your favourite song?"

"My favourite song?" he turns to me. I nod because that is all I'm capable of doing at this moment in time. I notice his eyes shine brighter today, the striking green highlights glistening- probably because of the sun. "That's rather a hard question," he trails off, pursing his mouth to one side while he ponders on such a simple question. This gives me an excuse to look at him, so I don't complain for the delay.

"I'm not sure, although asked by anyone else, I would say _Citizen Erased_. There's so many more, though _Citizen Erased_ is probably my default. I also like _Hyper Chondriac Music_ and _Exo-Politics_," he trails off again, so I wait for him to finish. I already have my favourite in my head. "I like most of them. I could name them, but that would be a bore, so what is your favourite?"

"_Fury_," I say, feeling rather satisfied with myself. He nods in agreement.

"The deep rumbling of the guitar at the start is great. Although the last verse of _Citizen Erased_ is something."

"Yeah, I guess," I agree, but I'm not so sure. I was never really that caught up on lyrics.

"_Bliss_ has piano arpeggios that I envy," he smiles to himself, and then adds proudly, "I'm going to learn how to play them, you've just reminded me."

"Have you ever been to a concert?" I quickly change the subject for I fear I will become lost in his music terminology.

"No, I haven't actually. Have you?" he glances at me while we stop at the traffic lights. I stare at him, shocked.

"How can you not have been to one?" I say, sounding slightly outraged. I lower my voice slightly, embarrassed that I can't keep my emotions together when I'm around him. "They're legends. Bellamy's performances are explosive when he's on stage."

"I guess I don't follow them as religiously as you," he says softly.

"I'm going to take you to one, sometime."

"I'm looking forward to it," he just laughs, which I find slightly unnerving, but nevertheless, I vow to keep to my promise.

******

My sandwich lies untouched in front of me, attracting the odd fly that Maria swats away with her sinewy hands. She rubs up against me, clutching my upper arm, almost like one of those annoying cats that continuously feel the need to rub themselves against your legs. I hate cats.

The top of her head brushes my shoulder, tickling me. Her fingers play with my shirtsleeves as if it's some sort of obsession, and I constantly worry whether she is curious enough to ride them up to my forearms and uncover the angry lines. She is beautiful; I can't disagree with that. Any man would be a fool not to want her, but I can't bring myself to feel anything. It's not that I can't be bothered to try- I did, I really did. However, she holds nothing on Edward. Her wide smile is shallow compared to Edward's, and her pale skin is unhealthy in contrast to his porcelain cheeks. They have the habit of turning a soft rose in the wind- I love windy days.

There is a sick feeling in my stomach that I cannot shake, and the only comfort comes from Edward when he beams at me occasionally after a bite of his dinner. I manage to weakly smile back; he shoots me a concerned look, brows furrowed, but I only shake my head and smile. His anxiety is sweet and immediately puts me at ease.

"Jazz, why are you wearing this? It's so hot, are you not boiling?" Maria asks, her forehead creased as if I was stupid. I didn't like her using that nickname, although I doubt I would have said the same if it was Edward.

"No, I'm fine actually," I say, perhaps too sharply than needed. I tear my arm away from hers, grateful that there was nothing latching on to me. She fiddles with her hands before looking up to me a giving me a weary smile. I regret my decision, and put my arms around her, squeezing her.

"It's not that hot, is it?" I smile, enticing a giggle from her. With that, I have already won her over. I see Edward peer from under his forehead, before quickly averting his eyes when I catch him. I almost feel like I'm betraying him in some way, but then I make myself realise that he has no idea about what was going through my head, even if he is extremely perceptive.

He seems much more relaxed without James, who is ill (although I doubt that that is the real cause of his absence.) Alec made him laugh earlier, which caused a sharp pang of jealousy to go coursing through my body before I could stop it and scold myself for being stupid. However, mostly he sits quietly, observing the people at the table. It gives me time to watch him; the way his lips part when he's interested, the way he snaps out of it and looks down when something is said that he disagrees with. Edward has a knack for putting his point across successfully, and when he can't do this, he gets frustrated. I think it's almost sweet, for it revealed yet another small part of the boy he is inside.

"Shall we go then, Jasper?" Edward and I have no classes this afternoon, but we decided to stay nonetheless, although it was more Edward's insistence than mine. I notice Maria tense, but I ignore it in favour of spending time with Edward.

"Sure." Maria ends up walking with me to the car, arm through mine, even though it is a short distance. Edward walks further ahead, clearly giving us privacy, but I want nothing more than for him to walk beside me. I turn to Maria when we reach the car. She looks at me expectantly.

"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yep," she says, and then proceeds to kiss me on the cheek. It takes me by surprise, and I don't know how to react. Thankfully, she leaves with a coy smile behind her shoulder.

Edward sits quietly for most of the drive home. I can see he's thinking, but I don't know what about. His head turns slightly- an interesting thought must have passed through his mind, and, sure enough, he turns on the CD player, bringing up a familiar tune. He visibly relaxes, lowering his shoulders.

"Maria seems to like you," he turns, smiling.

"Yeah, I guess," I'm not sure how to reply.

"You should tell her how you feel. Take her out, kiss her."

"And what if I don't like her?" my tone is slightly sharp. The word kiss sounds unfamiliar to his lips.

"Well, then…I don't know." And we're back to just listening to the song on the CD. When we arrive home, we both return to our respective bedrooms. I try to do homework, but bloody Edward and his piano distract me. The soft, melancholy tune coupled with the conflicting thoughts flying around my mind take up my concentration. I try to work out a plan. I preferred to act on impulse, but this time, I'm not taking chances.

Stupidly, I decide to test out my limits. I creep into his room, slipping through easily as the door is already ajar. I sit on his bed while his smell consumes me, and watch his back flexing with the music. The piece reaches an uplifting part, and he looks up and laughs at the sky. I know he's seen me, but he doesn't stop. The nape of his neck is tempting, the soft, curling hairs brushing his skin. He brings the music to a slow stop before turning to face me, beaming.

"Play." My request is simple. He nods, and turns, starting another sad tune. It's beautiful, the way his body moves accompanied with the music. I want to drown in the music, drown in him. I almost contemplate lying down on his bed and closing my eyes and inhaling his scent, wrapping myself in his duvet. This time, it's shorter than the last piece, but still wonderful. I want to learn to play the piano.

"What's that one called?"

"_Comptine d'un Autre Été- l'Après Midi_. It's by a French composer called Yann Tiersen, they used it for the film _Amélie_. I'm not sure if you've seen it."

"It's beautiful," I whisper. He smiles back at me.

"Come here, I'll teach you to play the right hand. It's very easy." I look at him in astonishment while my mind processes what he just said. Before I know it, I'm moving towards him, and I sit where he makes room for me on the bench. Our thighs are touching, and he's so, so close.

"Right, so the first note is a G, which is this one," he presses a key, and the sound rings out. "The song is played in E minor, but you don't need to know that." All I can do is smile, partly because my music knowledge is horrible and partly because I can't tear my eyes from his fingers. He carries on, and I muddle through, occasionally pressing the wrong note. We laugh and giggle, and he gives me a small punch that makes me smile. His cheek is close to mine, his soft breath smoothes over my skin. I notice his throat, clean and smooth. His jaw is beautiful, but none more so than his hair, which shakes when he's being silly on the piano. I can't stop laughing at him, and he seems to just egg me on even more until I'm red in the face. We eat and stay up later than normal, just talking about anything that comes to mind. That night, I fall asleep truly happy.


	10. Glorious

_We reached 100 reviews! Thank you all so much! I think this calls for a celebration. So, everyone who reviews this chapter will recieve a short sneek peek of the next chapter, which is a lot more angsty and complex. It also invloves a hell of a lot of jealousy..._

_The bad news is that summer is coming up, so I'm away all summer. Yep, until the 29th of August. I'm really sorry guys, but this is a regular thing. I will try to write while I'm away, but I can't promise anything. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the holidays and have a wonderful break!_

_WARNING! This chapter contains mention of assault with implied rape. It is quite important to a character, but if you do not wish to read about this, you may give me your email address and I will send you a chapter without these subjects. _

* * *

Glorious

I walk into the house with a smile, hearing the familiar clunk of my keys hitting the bowl, the sound of home. The house breathes quietly as I turn the lights on. I shake my locks vigorously and droplets of water fly off, glinting in the light. Bubbles of happiness rise up through my chest, and I almost jump across the living room. I feel like a child again.

During the past few days, I realised that I have become extremely perceptive. I noticed things I hadn't noticed before, like the way people drove or the way hair blows in the wind, or the way Edward stared at nothing when he was in deep thought. It was rather sweet.

Jumping on the couch, I laugh as the bubbles pop against my chest, tickling me with a warmth I rarely experienced nowadays. Edward and I shared more of our casual days, talking about any random thing that came to mine. I loved these days- we are so carefree, although I guess mine are laced with an underlying yearn for something more. I try to convince myself that this cannot happen, but I see Edward in person, and all of that disappears and it's just me and him. I think of him and all I am falls apart. Sometimes I feel as if people know; they look at me for a second too long and they know; I remind myself constantly that this cannot be true.

This was a time of day I love, after the end of university and before Edward comes home. University is riddled with dodging a shy but insistent Maria. She's managed to conjure some kind of connection to me, even if it is only one sided. Sometimes I welcome it into my arms because I do truly enjoy her company, and she takes my mind off Edward. She makes me feel normal. However, I try to shrug her off when Edward is there. I've seen him looking- he smiles back without a word and turns his attention back to Alec or his dinner, but I still feel that I'm betraying him.

The rain is pouring now, falling along the window, blurring everything outside. It patters on the roof, the only sound to be heard. I'm still soaked, but comfortable. Lying on the couch, I fiddle with the creases in my jeans.

Edward and I dine every day, taking turns to cook. He teaches me simple dishes and laughs while I stumble through, having as much fun as him. He eggs me on to learn songs on the piano, but I prefer to watch him play, so we end up sitting side by side on the bench. He leans over me to reach the lower octaves, hands straining, thighs touching. I can feel his breathing, strong and deep as his hands dance over the keys. His lips pout and straighten out with certain points of the music, and his brow sometimes creases when there's a hard part he can't quite get. The heat radiates from him when he plays. This time is precious, as it's the closest I ever get to him, emotionally and physically.

It's also given me the opportunity to see him frustrated. There was a part in a beautiful peace that he couldn't manage, and he ended up releasing his irritation using a growl. "Fuck's sake," he muttered under his breath, throwing his hand onto the piano. A loud clang filled the room, making me jump while he hopelessly ran his fingers through his hair.

I left at the point, thinking he could concentrate better. However, he refused to play without me and we ended up watching a program on the television, beers in hand.

I decide to have a shower before Edward comes home, to wash the rain from my body. What greets me in my room is surprising.

Over my bed, a large damp patch lies on the ceiling, brown and incriminating. The giant blotches mar the once crisp white ceiling, it being the only source of comfort during my cynical moments. Large caps of what drip from the blotches, soaking the clean bed sheets. The metal, watery smell of damp hangs in the air as I stand watching in the doorway.

"Uh…,"I say to nothing, unsure what to do next. I hesitantly creep forward, neck craned upwards to inspect the damage, almost afraid that it would reach out and touch me. Satisfied that it was safe, I pulled off the thin covers I had been using in the hot weather, and find my mattress soaked. This wouldn't dry before tonight, meaning I couldn't sleep in the comfort of my room. I stand under the patch, inspecting it almost quizzically.

"Whoa." I hear the sharp intake of breath behind me and turn to find Edward with an expression similar to mine. He smiles when he sees me, sending butterflies racing along my stomach. I manage to contain them.

"Well….seems we need to do some repairing," he says sarcastically while I wonder how he can joke at this time.

"I better move the rest of my stuff out before it gets wet."

"Yes, do that. I'll move the mattress and the bed so we can get a bucket to put under there." So we start moving things around. I marvel at his sheer strength; he has a swimmer's body, lithe but strong.

When we finish, we both stand back and look at the room; everything is pushed to the side, facing the centrepiece- a green bucket. The steady pulses of the drips reverberate around the room.

"I'm sorry, Jasper," Edward runs his hands through his hair again. I look at him, baffled at his apology. "I think there were some faulty tiles on the roof, and I was meant to get them repaired, I just never got around to it."

"Edward, honestly, it's fine. It's only a couple of days on the sofa until they get fixed." His face takes on an expression that remotely resembles disgust.

"You're not sleeping on the sofa."

"Why?"

"Well, have you seen it?" I am starting to think he is overreacting at such a little thing.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's too narrow and hard. You can hardly fit yourself in there; your feet would hang over the end."

"Well where the hell am I going to sleep?" I'm starting to get slightly annoyed.

"I was thinking, maybe, you could sleep in my bed." It sounds more like a question than a statement. My lips part, I am taken aback. My heart leaps, urging me to say yes, while my other side wonders what the consequences of such a decision would be. I must tread carefully. One wrong move on my part could send all of this crashing down, and I cannot face that yet. "Wait, I'm going to call the roofer and see if he can repair this tonight, then you may be able to sleep here."

"Okay." He leaves me perplexed and heads towards the phone. I perch on a kitchen chair, hands entwined in my lap. I almost hope that the roofer can come out tonight so that I would not have to torture myself with being in the same bed with Edward. A large part of me finds it endearing, a window into Edward's mind.

My heart is pulsing wildly now, adrenaline coursing through my body at such a silly little thing. Edward's gesture was caring. I am sure none of my other male friends would have given me the same offer if we were in the same situation. I am sure, however, all of my female friends would have given me the same offer.

I can faintly hear him talking over the phone. He returns quickly.

"He can't come out tonight, I'm sorry. He says he'll come out on Wednesday at the earliest. Apparently he has a very busy schedule." I smile meekly as Edward looks anywhere but at me.

We spend the night as normal, but there is an apprehension lingering in the air that I can't shake. We sit in his room, side by side on the piano bench, the remnants of a piece still ringing in the air.

"It's quarter past eleven, maybe we should hit the hay," he smiles to the piano. Immediately, my heart starts racing with the anticipation, or maybe the fear. We are both unsure of how to proceed next- it's almost as if we're strangers. Two simultaneous laughs come from both of us, and we laugh even more at the awkwardness of the situation. He eventually stands.

"Come on," he says, looking down at me. "You can use the bathroom first."

I stand on the cold tile floor, my knees weak and almost quaking from the adrenaline, the fear, the curiosity. I can hear the faint tinkling of a sweet, simple piece emanating from his piano. I brush my teeth aimlessly, staring through the mirror, not seeing my reflection. He stops when the piece finishes, and I realise I am concentrating on him rather than the foam in my mouth. My mind brings situations, fantasies even, to the surface, but I race to drown them before I become too entwined. Finishing my teeth, I stare at my reflection, not quite sure of who was looking back. This person is older, more mature, wiser. There are slight wrinkles under his eyes, which are bright. I am seeing things that weren't there before, and not just in my appearance. Sometimes I don't recognise the person who's staring back at me, but I understand that that person has felt more in these past few months than probably in his whole life. He is a man now, not a boy or anything in between, for that matter. And even though I am having to lie through my teeth when anyone asks me if I've seen anyone nice, I'm happy, because I'm _feeling_. It hurts, but I'm _in love_. At this moment, I don't think there's a greater feeling than that.

"Jazz, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm finished," I open the door to find Edward standing extremely close to my. Involuntarily, I suck in a breath and force a smile while my stomach twirls and releases butterflies flying down my limbs. He breathes a smile back, and now, he's glorious.

I move out of his way and shyly sit on the bed, as if it will jump back at me. I'm so tempted to sink into the covers and breathe in his smell, drown in it. Pulling the covers over my legs, I stare straight ahead, listening to the faint noises of him showering, changing into his pyjamas and finally brushing his teeth. When he comes out, he looks almost adorable, hair still wet, the droplets of water glinting in the dim light. I feel like an intruder, and peasant thrust in front of the king on his throne. He jumps into the bed, a playful gesture, pushing his scent towards me again, and I have to fight myself so I don't close my eyes.

"I try not to steal the covers, but I can't promise anything," he winks.

"Oh," I laugh, unsure of what to say next. My cynicism kicks in, wondering who else he has slept with, and whether he stole their part of the duvet. It makes me jealous, even though it shouldn't, but I can't bear the thought of him with anyone else. I want to share these precious moments with him.

He turns out the light and lays fully down, facing me. I make no advance to copy him, but continue looking ahead, trying not to notice his eyes.

"Have you ever loved someone?" I'm surprised by my own brashness, but I feel unusually confident. The dark unbinds the tongue.

"I think," he seems unsure, but nevertheless, his voice rings around the room. "Yes." His answer is final. I nod, satisfied. "Have you?"

"Probably."

"How do you know, though? I mean, you never know if there is going to be some greater feeling out there. There's no plateau. It's limitless."

"I think you'd know. It's the person you always hold on to, the person you always find. It's like, you drift unconsciously to them. You get those butterflies; you're erratic, but consumed with the deep feelings. You will love whatever they become. They'll burn within you, and you'll just keep on flying, soaring, until you fall together, hand in hand." Silence. I worry that I have overstepped the line.

"Do you write?" he says. I shift so I'm on my side, facing him, before replying.

"No. I've never really been interested in that kind of stuff."

"You're good. Poetic." I laugh at his statement, taking it as a compliment even if it wasn't intended to be.

"What about you? Do you write?"

"No, I'm more into my music. I've always envied people who can put their words down on paper, though. Sometimes, words are so much more effective than actions."

"Maybe so. When did you learn to play the piano?"

"When I was very young," he laughs. "My mother had an old grand, and I remember when I became fascinated with it. She taught me, and then I developed my skills myself. I wasn't fond of piano teachers, they were always so proper. I prefer learning songs on my own."

"Do you compose?"

"Yes. Quite a lot lately, actually. I go through phases where I can't play a note to where I write pages and pages of music." I press on, wanting to find out more about his personal life.

"Have you got a girlfriend?"

"No." More silence. We look into each other's eyes; I gulp. He doesn't break contact, his lips part, and I almost take a hand so I can skim my fingers over his temples, his hair, his eye lids. At this moment, I don't think I've wanted to kiss him more. The tingle between my legs intensifies, and I become painfully aware of an erection. I turn and stare at the ceiling before he can notice.

"Jasper?"

"Yes?"

"You know, I don't think I've ever had a better friend." I feel a warm wetness creep up to my eyes, and flow down my cheeks. My heart soars at his words, and I have to restrain myself from taking his face in my hands and holding him to my chest. The tears run freely, and I reply before he thinks I don't reciprocate his feelings. Wrong. I reciprocate more.

"Me too." We are quiet once again, but it's comfortable and it gives me a chance to collect myself. I didn't care where we were now, as long as Edward is here. _Take me, Edward. Please._

"I've never been closer to anyone before. You make me so happy." More tears. I want to cocoon myself against his stomach; I want to find the corner of his smile again.

"I feel the same about you," I manage to push out, but I regret it as it sounds strangled and weak, the evidence of tears clearly lacing the sound. He doesn't say anything about it. I wonder if he's crying too, but I refrain from looking because I'm worried I will lose control completely. The surge of emotion is too much but not enough, because I want more. We lie like that for a few minutes, the tears riding over me until I'm calm enough to speak again.

"Tell me more."

"About?" he sounds perplexed.

"Anything."

"I was born in this Chicago, to Esme and Carlisle. They taught me so much and I'm forever indebted to them. I moved further north because I wanted to be myself. Everyone sets out thinking they're going to be someone, they're going to change the world. Every sets out as if they're going somewhere, but really, very few of us end up where we wanted to be. I was assaulted by a man three years ago." My head shoots towards him, not registering anything he said after. He catches me eye.

"It was something you heard on the news, something that happens to some poor girl at the wrong place at the wrong time. But it happened to me. You seem to think that you're invincible, but you're not. No one is. And I think I've learnt more about the world in those three years that in the rest of my life." He speaks in an almost monotone voice, but I know him too well to understand that he's fighting to keep the emotion out of his voice.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper.

"I still don't know why people say that. It's not your fault. We really should find a better way of expressing sorrow," he almost completely ignores my statement. His nose flares, and I realise he doesn't want to talk further. We lie in silence again as I cry and watch him calm down. He is brave.

"I think maybe we should sleep," I say.

"Thank you. Really, thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything." With that, he turns away, his back facing my. I watch his shirt skim over his muscles, as my mind reels on what he just confided in me. I don't think I've ever loved him more.

I take it all in, battling to keep myself from crying out. My eagle is grounded. He's broken, and I never realised. I thought I was struggling, but this put a whole new meaning to the word struggle. He is my salvation, but he had no one himself. I watch Edward, tucked into himself. _Oh Edward, did I ever tell you how beautiful you were?_


	11. Yield

_The long awaited 11th chapter! I hope you had great holidays, and I'm terrible sorry you had to wait, but it was nice to have a break anyhow. This chapter sees the arrival of a new character, more tension, and a very important step in the world of Edward and Jasper. Hope you like it, in spite of how short it is. _

_This is for those first kisses. Tell me if I overstepped the mark with the organ transplant simile. _

* * *

_Yield_

In his bed I wake, swathed in the crisp white sheets that carry his smell, his hair dangerously close to my face. The sunlight streams in, the rain from yesterday forgotten like a friend, and makes his hair shine a brilliant copper. Edward faces me with his chin tucked into his chest, looking like the little boy he sometimes unconsciously shows to me. The slow pulse of his breathing is the only sound in the room.

I want to immerse my fingers into his hair, feel his scalp and kiss his forehead. The intensity of my longing looms over me like a dead weight, but I welcome it with open arms because it's the only thing that makes me feel. The only thing that stains my happy canvas is society and its twisted views. I'm not gay, I'm just in love with another man. It is as simple as that, but people start to assume, and soon enough, those assumptions start to grow as the truth when they're really far from it.

I try to ignore that Edward knows nothing of my infatuation with him and most of the time I succeed. Sometimes I fantasise. I see us in the future, not necessarily in a relationship, but _together_. I wish for more, I yearn for it. My heart aches for what I can never have. I almost miss it, but people say can't miss something you didn't have. I'm sure that somehow, if we had more, it would ruin our friendship, and I couldn't live with that.

He stirs, shuffling around further away from me and tucking his head in so much that I wonder how he doesn't strain his neck. I decide to leave. I tell myself that it's because I don't want to shuffle around awkwardly in the morning while he wakes, but really, it's because I can't bear to see him shut the door when I leave. It pains me to stand and watch his sleeping form, his face peaceful and relaxed, but I make myself do it.

"I think you're beautiful." My voice is nearly inaudible, just shallow breaths of a whisper, but it cuts through the room sharply. My greedy eyes watch him as his chest rises slowly, and I wonder how I managed to fall so far that I can't get out. He doesn't react.

******

I have another argument with myself that morning, persuading myself that I am not gay, while finding no evidence that I am straight. It is these arguments that bring tears to my ears and force me to clutch the steering wheel. It is these arguments that make me dig my nails into my palms so much that they are filled with angry pink crescents. Edward hasn't noticed yet.

His classes start later than mine do today, and even though he normally woke early to eat breakfast with me regardless, I'm glad he didn't this morning. I need time to think, dry my eyes. I take in a deep breath, fill my nose with the smell of petrol and the little green tree swinging from my mirror. I feel almost in despair, realising that I could never afford to tell Edward my true feelings for fear of crushing our fragile friendship. I had a choice: tell him and leave or keep quiet and stay. I already know which one I'm choosing, without a second thought.

I wonder if last night would be forgotten like a stray dog with its wiry tail between its legs, left alone and never seen again. Sometimes I feel as if this is what our relationship is like- teetering dangerously between flight and fall.

I watch the people milling about on campus, laughing and drinking and texting and kissing without a care in the world, and I want to shout at them, to scream at them for their innocence, their ignorance. They have a youth this love has stripped me of.

When I see him, I am surprised. Hanging around his arm is a petite girl with her long brown hair blowing onto his upper arm, her locks latching onto him like an octopus. His face is close to hers, smiling while she whispers something to him. I am transfixed by this rare display of affection coming from Edward. It is strange to see him bonding with someone else. Foreign. Unnatural, almost. But there it is, straight in front of my face, taunting me. Jealousy rises violently, coating me like slick black oil, so much, so much of it that I can't wash it off. There's a strong feeling of betrayal lingering around me. His eyes don't meet mind and light up like they normally do. No, they are already lit by this girl, this foreigner. My body rejects her almost like an organ transplant without sufficient medication. I feel dislike towards her, jealousy, just because she is with Edward. It is completely irrational, but it's there. I miss the meeting of eyes and the hardly suppressed smiles, the small greetings that were secret to us and no one else. An emptiness forms around me, one which I have never felt before. He arrives with this girl, standing before our table, fucking smiling.

"Guys, this is Bella," he breathes, slinging an arm around the girl. She smiles coyly, unsure of what to do next. Edward's green eyes meet mine, almost as if to ask for approval. I manage a small, weak smile before I have to look down and take a sudden interest in my lunch. The table exchanges greetings, and because there is little room, they squash up next to each other on the edge, thighs more than touching. I make no attempt to include myself in their conversation- they look too busy feeding each other bits of pasta. The table leaves them alone, for they are boyfriend and girlfriend and therefore deserve to be left alone. Bella's giggles float to my ears, a nasty sound, something which I before would have perceived as beautiful.

I finish off my sandwich quickly, wanting to get away from the internal circus. It is too much for me to comprehend all at once. Slinging Maria from my arm, I stand and avoid the gaze of a puzzled Edward. My feet carry me unconsciously to the path towards my car, my mind not even registering the movement. It feels like the moments before you faint, becoming detached from your own body, watching yourself as an outsider. A strong hand steadies my shoulder, making me turn abruptly, broken from my trance.

"Where are you going?" Edward looks concerned. My eyes dart past him, onto the table, where I see Bella uneasily making conversation. Suddenly, I feel sorry for the poor girl- Edward is her connection to our table, and with him gone, she is lost.

"You should get back to Bella," I say rather stoically, meeting his electric eyes straight on for a moment, before turning again.

"Where are you going?!" His voice is stronger, louder, the hand on my shoulder now more forceful.

"Home."

"Are you not going to wait for me?"

"Why should I? We took separate cars."

"I know…" he trails, seeming at a loss, eyes darting everywhere but missing me out. His voice is softer. "I just thought…you know, we always- never mind."

I turn again to leave, trying to ignore how much it pains me, how much it hurts me to turn my back on him, even when he is the cause of it. He calls out again, and I stop.

"I can get us a pizza when I return, if you like."

"You don't need to bother."

******

I arrive to an empty house, and immediately tears fill my eyes at the thought of what I've done and what Edward has done and how the hell did I get myself into this situation? The familiar numbness crawls over me again, and I can't decide what to think of. My mind rushes, too quick for me to keep up. I contemplate leaving, but I do not have the strength. He has tied me here, taken me hostage with his looks and his smell and his breath and his words, all haunting me.

There is nothing to do until Edward comes home, so I throw myself into assignments that are not due in months in the hope that I will be able to keep him out of my mind.

I am almost relieved to hear the lock turning, but I can't hold down the butterflies in my stomach. I smile because Edward is here. Flinging my pen, I slowly walk to the door of my room, opening it to reveal a flushed Edward juggling a pizza box and his bags.

"I got pizza, Jasper!" he shouts, unaware of my presence. I want to laugh, but my selfish side reminds me to be angry.

"I said you didn't need to," I say slowly, quietly. He turns quickly.

"Oh," he mumbles, licking his lips. "I wanted to." With nothing else to say, I walk past him, his smell intoxicating me for a moment, into the kitchen to get plates. He sees what I'm doing, and drops his bag on the floor. We move, unspeaking, around each other, a heavy tension lingering in the air. It is almost like a choreographed dance, smooth, graceful movements, but never touching. Edward seems restless, jigging his leg, constantly fidgeting- a change from his normal composed demeanour. He eventually gives in.

"What's happened to you, Jasper?"

"Nothing."

"Please tell me. I've been receiving monosyllabic replies from you all day. You're so irritable."

"Edward, just…" I trail off hopelessly, sighing. He sits next to me and rests a hand on my forearm. I'm so alert, conscious of what I'm getting myself into, but nevertheless, I sail straight on.

"Please," he whispers, his face close to mine, his expression sincere. _If only you knew._ I can't stop my eyes from slinking down to look at his lips for just a fleeting moment. I'm suddenly angry, hard, brittle anger rising through my throat. The frustration and desperation of the past few weeks combine to make a wicked emotion, all pointed at Edward. His eloquent voice, his lithe fingers and his coppery hair are all teasing me, taunting me to go further.

"For god's sakes, Edward!" I roar, standing up. He moves backward, an instinctive reaction, mouth slightly open. At this moment, I'm not sure whether to hit him or take his head in my hands. My jaw is tense, grinding teeth, my muscles straining. The rational side tells me to slow down, but I'm so livid that it's taking over, consuming me until I can't think logically. I'm only seeing red, fire, and I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks and chest, making me even more irritable. Before I know it, I've said it. "Go fuck Bella or something!"

He flinches, blinking as if he cannot comprehend what I just said. Then his jaw tenses, lips pursed, making him look incredibly angry. His fists curl and uncurl, white knuckles glowing, as his eyes dart around the room, meeting anything but mine. I watch his expressions change. Surprise, anger, betrayal. I'm still panting, unable to regain control of my breathing. We stand in the living room while the painfully awkward situation grasps our bodies and shakes them. I hear the clock ticking.

Unable to bear this any longer, I turn and march to my room, leaving Edward alone. I make sure to slam the door loudly, although I later regret this decision for fear of looking like a temperamental adolescent. Tears flow down my cheeks as the rage consumes me, my mind reeling at what I had just done. I almost wish for Edward to come into my room, make this easier, start talking. I fear that I could tell him anything in this vulnerable state.

He eventually does come. I sit on my bed, twiddling with a snail shell, my fingers following the winding brown patterns until the recede into nothing. The sheets crease where I sit on them. I refuse to look at him, not wanting him to see my self-affliction, jealous of his ability to be cryptic.

"Is this because of Bella?" I don't want to answer, ashamed. "Is it?!" He raises his voice, jaw tense and I see his fists curling in, skin stretched and pale, accentuating his brilliance.

"Yes," I answer softly.

It feels like forever before he answers.

"You know you don't have anything to be afraid about. You're still my best friend." I shine on the inside, but it's not enough; it will never be enough. More, I need more. "I mean, you didn't have to leave like that, I thought maybe…You have Maria, you don-"

"Maria is not my girlfriend!" I can't contain my anger at his incorrect assumptions. I thought he was brighter than that. He pauses, a sorry look pasted on his face. Guilt seeps into my body, I regret shouting at him, hurting him. "You're the most important person in my life," I whisper before I can contain myself, my voice meek and strangled.

The room ticks with excitement and tension at the same time. It seems almost restless, the persistent ticking of the clock, the impatient wind beating at the windows. Edward crosses the room in two long strides. He sits next to me on the bed, closer than he's ever been before, and hugs me, his embrace strong and full of life. I'm sheathed in his smell, his skin, my cheek brushing against his. The feel of his chest, his hands on my back make me want to laugh and cry at the same time. I hear his breathing, take in the smell of his hair. Memories of love and sunshine and the moon flood my mind, overwhelm my body, drown me. We start to pull away, slowly, but something makes me stop, hesitate when my lips are at his cheek. He doesn't move, stays still as ice; I feel his breaths at my ear, slightly hurried. The closeness of his skin is wonderful. I press my lips softly against his cheek, soft flesh against stubble, my nose close to his bronze hair. Cedar and almonds and cinnamon, his smell is like an elixir to me. I treasure it as if it were gold. My lips pause at his skin longer than necessary before pulling away. I can't believe what I've just done. _Kiss him. _

I stare at his eyes- he looks frozen, but I manage to catch his pupils darting to my lips. Tentatively, like a child, I rest my fingers against his throat, feeling the vein pulsing quickly. Strong, steady, fast pulses. He gulps, mesmerising me with his Adam's apple, covered by the milky skin of his throat, and it's all so primal now, I can't resist anymore, so I lean forward, slowly, softly, watching his piercing eyes the whole way, until I'm a centimetre from his lips, until, finally, I close my eyes and kiss him.

His lips, soft and yielding to mine, part slightly. I pull my lips away, for he's still, unmoving, and kiss him again because I think my heart is melting and I'm in love and he is beautiful. I silently plead with him, brushing my nose against his cheek. _Move_. I feel like laughing when he kisses me back, soft and steady, his fingers sliding into my hair, gently pushing me to him. It's all supple and yielding and delicate, like he's exploring. We pull away for air, and I feel the release of his breath, forceful through those lips, passion and emotion liberated. He kisses me this time, harder, his hand on my neck, on my back, scrunching my shirt with his fist. I feel warm, yellow, as he leads me to places I haven't been before. My stomach tingles and my jeans are tight, and all I can feel is his cherry lips and his hair and his neck, his chest against mine. We stop, and his eyes meet mine, penetrating, seeing into my soul.

"Edward," I whisper, my hand dropping from his throat as he slowly backs away and I realise something is very wrong. He swallows and licks his lips again, climbing off the bed, brows furrowed as if he was in pain. I watch as he walks away, leaving me on the bed with the ghosts of his kiss and his touch, causing me as much pain as pleasure. It feels like a dream, and I quickly go through the past two minutes, picking up the scattered feelings and emotions and visions before they all disappear. This time, I don't cry.


	12. Waiting

_Crap, crap, crap. This one was bloody hard to get out, and I'm sorry, I have a feeling I'm going to severly disappoint with this chapter. It's short and predictable and just not as good as the others, but for the past few weeks, I've not really been in the mood to write. School's a bitch, too. _

* * *

_Waiting_

I didn't come out of my room that night, preferring to stay a coward. I hid, something which I shouldn't have done. I regret that now, but Edward did leave me, vulnerable and alone. His reaction was not something I anticipated, but I left him to himself that night. His disappearance the next morning didn't worry me greatly, although I was disappointed. Anger was an emotion I couldn't stop from crawling in, no matter how much I wanted to.

However, his absence from lunch shook me. I realised, then, that I had ruined this. Maria noticed my mood, and quizzed me about it, the way a friend would when they cared. I didn't want her comfort, her pity. Loneliness- that's what I wanted. I wanted to cry and scream and just see him once more, see his face and those lips I touched the night before. I ached physically. I brushed Maria off, but I couldn't feel guilt for her. She astonished me then, taking my arm and announcing to the table that we were leaving. I didn't have the strength to protest, even though I didn't want to have this awkward conversation. She could take me away.

Abruptly, she turned to face me, taking me in her arms. Her warmth embraced me, lifted me marginally. "You've got to stop doing this," she whispered, taking my cheek in her soft fingers. Clearing her throat, her face turned serious. "Look, I don't know what the hell is happening in your life right now, and neither am I asking. But I look at you, Jasper, and you're just…lost. You can't do this to yourself." My shock was hard to conceal. I went over everything she said- I was sure I'd hidden everything, careful to not make things obvious. I couldn't say anything; my heart was thudding, loud in my chest, afraid that my secret had a chance of getting out.

"Now I know you probably don't want to, but you can talk to me about anything." I managed a tentative nod. Her eyes turned sincere, meeting my lips for a brief moment. She looked back at me, all beautiful and concerned. Slowly, she said, "I think…I think you and Edward…." She didn't finish her sentence.

I froze. My mouth opened. Lies brushed past my mind, random excuses, all pointing away from Edward. But somehow, I couldn't lie to her. I stood there, shocked. She doesn't meet my eyes, keeping some of the pressure from me. I felt like everyone was watching my next words. All I could do was nod hopelessly.

She managed to catch the movement from the corner of her eye. "Oh, Jasper!" She threw her arms around me, nearly knocking me from the sheer force. I couldn't help the tears from falling, wetting my face and her shirt. We held each other, my tears against the wall. I wondered what would have happened if Edward walked past, but I fought to push that thought away from my head. We pulled away, and she smiled at me, brushed her fingers against my cheek.

"I have to go," I whispered. She understood my need. Before I registered the movement, I kissed her softly on the cheek. Her eyes were closed, and she was still smiling. I thought she looked beautiful at that moment.

I thought about the implications of my actions when I drove home. I felt lighter. There was a niggling doubt at the back of my mind- I could see everyone finding out, laughing at me, taunting me. I couldn't face Edward if that happened. I'd have to leave. That thought pained me. However, I felt comfortable with Maria knowing. Somehow.

My dreams were filled with Maria and Edward and love and snail shells and the piano that night. The next day, I dared to enter his room. There was a pulse to it, a steady ticking, letting me know it was alive, but the room was untidier than normal, a feeling of haste attached to it. The bed was unmade, peeled away from the crisp white sheets that he hadn't changed since I slept there. I felt like his body lingered on that bed, whispers and ghosts surrounding it. I stood for a while, inspecting and trying to take a fresh memory of his smell to keep me going. I didn't want to touch his piano- the sound would have felt wrong in the empty room without him, a reminder of where he was. Wherever that was.

I wondered whether to call the police. Something was stopping me, pulling my chest back so that I could never quite reach the phone. No else seemed to notice. Bella didn't visit- she would have if she was concerned. She was his _girlfriend_.

I left his room after Maria's words floated to me.

The day after, Bella stops me in the corridor, seeming slightly distressed, I am surprised.

"Jasper!" I hear her call and smile as politely as I can. Up close, her clear ivory skin covers her proud cheekbones, which have a hint of blush on them. I can see why Edward is attracted to her, but the fact that she is an enemy unnerves me greatly.

"Yes?" I reply as stoically as I can, looking to shorten this conversation as much as possible.

"I know you probably don't care or anything, but you're Edward's best friend and-" That reminds me.

"Oh, sorry," I interrupt, and become aware that I'm apologising. "You don't happen to know where he is?" She frowns, taking a moment to think over my question. I prepare for the worst- that she doesn't know where he is, that he's fled, bolted without a word to anyone.

"He's on that medical trip," she says slowly, enunciating her words as if I were a child. "He didn't tell you?"

"No."

"Oh," is all she can say as her eyes become unfocused for a moment. "Well, I guess that fits."

"What fits?"

"He dumped me last night. Over the phone, too." I'm too shocked to do anything. I want to dance but something, something under the surface that stops me. "It's just not like him, you know. And I don't even think he has a valid reason, he just muttered something about it not working out and…" she trails off, eyes still not meeting mine, and I can see she's clearly heartbroken, and I want to hug her but I don't want to do anything. It's all so confusing, overloading me, the complexity too much for me to understand.

"Now that he hasn't even told his best friend about the fact that he's gone for a week, I don't know…" Her eyes meet mine. "It's weird, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess." We both stand there, dazed as we tried to figure out the perplexity that is Edward. Moments pass as other students rush by us. I feel like time has stopped for us, we're frozen while everyone else is moving.

"I was going to ask you if you'd heard anything, you know, about me and Edward, but since he isn't telling you anything either, then…." she trails off again, not finishing her sentence. I wait while she thinks of what she is going to say. "Do you think you could call him?"

Immediately, I start stuttering, feeling flushed. "I don't know, Bella, I mean, if he isn't saying anything…He would call, you never know, he's probably just stressed," I manage a nervous laugh. "I would give it a few days. Why don't you talk to him in person, or call him yourself?"

"Please, Jasper." She disregards my mumblings, and I can't deny her.

"I'll try."

"Thank you," she whispers, and hugs me. I don't hug her back, I can't, but our mutual fondness for Edward brings us together. Only slightly.

In my room that night, I trap the memory of the kiss into my heart, hold it tight so that it won't slip out. I've tried to keep every detail, but they become misty. I look at them through the foggy panes of my mind, try to saviour them, but eventually, they fade into vague shapes and colours and I can't help but think that if I kissed him now, it would be better than just a memory. In my solitary moments, I like to take them out and look at them, feel them as if he were here, next to me. The emptiness as I come back from them surprises me, shocks me like ice to my skin. And then I'm numb.

******

James is shaken up, agitated and drunk the next day. He clutches a beer bottle in his hand, his fingers curling around the neck of the bottle possessively, even though alcohol is prohibited on campus. We all worry that he's going to get caught and effectively drag us into trouble too, but he seems oblivious, brandishing it wildly while he talks. There's an unspoken question hanging in the air. The liquid hitting the glass tinkles as he shakes it, nearly spilling its contents onto the table. He's muttering inaudible sentences- they sound like words strung together. At some points, they don't sound like words at all.

I often wonder how I seem to have managed to unglue myself from James, but when I compare him to Edward, he doesn't stand a chance.

Maria seems restless beside me, and I do my best to try to calm her down. Her heat radiates through the thin blouse she is wearing. The fabric does nothing to keep her warm, so she curls into me, and somehow, I don't mind. I want to ask her a million questions, but there's always someone, intruding, interrupting, and when we're alone, my tongue twists and I want to make a sound but I can't, there's nothing there.

"Bitch," he spits, pointed eyes following a girl walking through campus.

"What now?" Maria snaps.

"Hate her. Stupid."

"What's wrong with you?"

James laughs forcedly, "Where to start?!"

"You know you're not allowed alcohol."

"Live a little, Maria." I'm angry. His snarky comment, his ignorance, it's all piling up on me, so much so that a hatred starts to grow in me, taking over. I know I'm overreacting, I feel it, but I can't stop myself. It pushes me.

"You don't talk to her like that!"

He sneers, a wicked thing. "Well, well, protecting your girlfriend, are we?" He's taunting me, able to transfer from a friend to an enemy in seconds.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Oh, really? Looks like we're copying Edward."

"You don't know what you're talking about." I grow nervous.

"Don't I?" His voice is eerily quiet. "Where is he, anyway? Where is your little best friend? Tell me, Jasper, do you miss him?" He smiles at me again, voice sarcastic with those fake wide eyes he puts on for show. I don't reply, but the anger is building, so much that I think I might cry. I'm burning, my heart is racing.

"I think he has just run off with his tail between his legs," he snickers.

"Don't talk about him!" I shout, my brow furrowed. Maria clutches me harder, whispers a warning in my ear, but I almost don't hear it.

"Oh, you don't know what you're saying! He's a queer and everyone knows it!" he bellows. My body convulses, muscles tense and straining. I shoot up, ready to hit James, my arm drawn back. Red, all I see is red. Someone pulls me back harshly, so that I stagger backwards. My chest is tight, and there's a lump in my throat, rendering me unable to speak.

"Shut up! Just shut up!"

"You're drunk!" Maria accuses, one finger pointing at James.

He lifts his eyebrows. "You think?" he says matter-of-factly. Maria twists, black hair twirling wildly behind her, pulling me along. I look at the floor, still able to hear his heinous laughter, feel his burning eyes on me. My fists clench so much that pain flares through my fingers.

"Don't listen to him, he's a bastard." She looks like she's concentrating hard, not meeting my eyes. Then she turns to me, the sun shining behind her, and her tone turns softer. "Edward comes back tomorrow. You should try to call him tonight. He doesn't like to make the first move."

"I can't, Maria, I just can't. What if he doesn't want to talk?"

"He does. He's just waiting."


	13. Yourself

_I just want to thank everyone who reviewed for the last chapter. You really did help me up, especially one person who shall remain unnamed. My muse is coming back (yay!) although I'm not exactly sure how long she will stay for, but ah well. She's here, at least. Has anyone else noticed that Fanfiction's word count is wrong? A song I listened to profusely while writing this chapter was Samson by Regina Spektor. Heal thyself is something I go by a lot. _

* * *

_Yourself_

My fingers curl around the plastic, clutching it slightly too hard than what would be deemed normal. I can feel the sweat coating my fingers, the receiver. What would be the possibilities of him answering the phone? Cunning, sneaky plans worm their way into my head, tempting, but I manage to resist. It wouldn't be fair. My stomach tingles, but I close my eyes and let go of the receiver. It clangs on the floorboards, the sound resonating around the room, making me flinch, but I can't call him. My body curls into itself; my knees come towards my chest as I lay my head on the armrest, eyes still closed, maintaining a somewhat peaceful exterior. Inside, I am convulsing.

Maria manages to keep the focus from Edward and allows my tortured mind some serenity. She still hooks her arm into mine, as she always did. To anyone else, nothing has changed between us. We walk in step together along the sheltered paths through the university campus, shielded by the dying, solemn trees. Their leave fall with hues of red and gold and yellow and litter the ground, covering it completely in some places. I walk in a familiar daze, a state I'm regularly in, fully concentrating but not quite there. My mind wanders sometimes, until Maria pulls it back unknowingly. I look at the people who walk past us, sometimes solitary, sometimes with company, and I wonder if they're lonely, I wonder if they've ever loved. I think about how they live their lives, whether they want to be here. What their fantasies are. What they think about at night. My musings are usually cut short. However, sometimes they are so curled in, so overpowered by their thoughts that I can look at them for as long as I want.

"Jasper?" comes a soft voice.

"Yes?"

"Are you free next weekend?"

"I think so. Why?" I continue watching people, only half listening to Maria, when I see him. Maria keeps on talking, and I wish she'd stop, something about a cabin, but all I can concentrate on is Edward and his face, downcast. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, and he walks with a quick, imposing stride, almost as if he just wants to get out. He doesn't look up, doesn't notice anyone, an air of military intimidation hanging around him, and so he starts turning onto another path, away from us.

"Hey!" I shout before I can stop myself, my voice loud and projecting. He looks up slightly, not faltering in his stride, before looking down again, just for a moment. I feel my chest sinking for that split second. Then, recognition grows on his face and he stops, his hands coming out of his pockets as he turns to face me, straightening up, harrowingly beautiful.

"Jasper," he says, almost a statement, his eyes flickering between Maria and me. I don't know how to approach this, don't know what else to say. There is a moment of silence between us as we gaze at each other, not quite believing that the other is there.

"How was your trip, Edward?" Thank God for Maria.

It is apparent that he almost forgets Maria is there, and I only hope she doesn't catch it. "Fine, thank you." There is another uncomfortable pause, as we don't know where to look. An unspoken question lingers painfully in the air. "I- I have to go," Edward stutters. "I have a class." He walks away, not looking at me one last time. I slowly drop my arm, and Maria's goes limp as she lets me go. I turn around to look at her, my mind turbulent.

"I have to go," I say, repeating Edward's initial words. "What were you saying, something about a cabin?"

"Oh," she pauses, "Nothing."

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow." I turn and walk away, but not without the scratching thought that this moment has a striking resemblance to the one between Edward and myself.

I spend my next classes jigging my knee, fiddling with my fingers, unable to concentrate. My eyes frequently meet the clock face, which seems to be going ever slower, unwilling to fulfil my request. I almost jump from my seat the moment the bell rings for lunch, and take full, quick strides as I rush to our table.

I look for the bronze hair first, and then the posture that can only belong to Edward, but it isn't there. He isn't there. Instantly, I feel almost heavier, and my fingers grow limp and everything sags as my anxiety is washed away. I feel almost disappointment at his absence.

Dejected, I drop into the bench next to Maria and open my lunch slowly, hoping to convince myself that I was in fact early. She doesn't turn to face me, rather curves into me involuntarily and continues with her lunch. James doesn't seem to notice my presence. I think of him, and our friendship, but there's nothing of that now. Maybe there never was.

A shadow looms over me, and I look up, unable to stop the smile spreading on my face. He looks down at me, hair over his forehead, grinning like a little boy. My heart rises, and I don't feel myself anymore, I only see him. The awkwardness from earlier vanishes, but he breaks away and sits opposite me, no lunch in his hands. I manage to catch James look up, falter, before returning to his lunch. I wonder what he is thinking, but he goes deeper than what I can manage.

I have to stop myself from continuously looking at Edward, but my eyes are drawn to him and his movements. My mouth doesn't open at all to talk- I leave this to the other people at the table, but I listen to the sound of his voice because, God, I've missed it.

He's not infatuated. He's perfectly at ease with me sitting opposite him, enjoying the light autumn wind, laughing, looking fine. I cower, the shy little boy I am, but I'm surprisingly angry, angry at him and his laughter, for no reason at all. Even though I anticipate talking to him like someone anticipates their birthday, I stand when I finish, announce my leave as appropriate, and overtake Edward, not missing his face when I walk past him.

I'm disappointed when I don't hear his steady gait behind me, but I've brought this upon myself. I regret not bringing my car, for the extra time walking home would provide enough time for my mind to grow confused and tired. There was a disadvantage to being solitary.

"Where are you going?" I hear him before I see him, so I turn to the sound of his voice. He stands next to his car, a confused expression painting his face.

"Home." I surprise myself with the word. Edward's house is my home.

"Without your car?" he smirks, as if he's laughing at my apparent stupidity.

"I didn't bring my car."

"Oh," he stops, perplexed. "Why?"

"My classes start later today. It's only a short walk."

"Get in."

"What?" But before he can reply, he's already opening the car door and getting in. I vowed not to get pushed around by him, but I can't resist his proximity and his smell, so I walk towards it tentatively.

My chest rises when I get in, his smell coating me, so much that I can't escape from it. Really, I don't want to.

We sit in silence. He doesn't bother to turn on the radio, doesn't bother to make conversation. My hands start sweating, fidgeting. An unusual urge floats to me, and urge to touch his hand and feel his skin, run the backs of my fingers over his veins. He's so close, but I can't do anything. I psych myself up, convince myself that I should start talking, but something holds me back, something steals the words from my mouth so that I have nothing to say anymore.

Eventually, I manage.

"Where were you?"

"That medical trip."

"To where?"

"China." Sarcasm. "God, Jasper, where do you think? It was a series of lectures on the functional architecture of the body, if you must know," he almost spits, an arrogance seeping through his words. I lay silent for a while, contemplating my next move.

"It's just that you didn't tell me."

"I did." He sounds unsure.

"When?"

"That night, in the car, when I drove you to uni one day. I told you about it then."

"I don't remember that."

"Yeah, well." He doesn't finish his sentence, and I can't help but wonder if he thinks I ignore him.

"You could have reminded me."

"When? I'm not a calendar, Jasper." I stop.

"I don't know, just before you left."

"I left at six in the morning."

"Well, the night before then!" My patience is fading,

"We didn't exactly leave the night before on great terms, did we?!" He faces me, electric eyes piercing my cheek, but I don't turn, too scared to face him now. His fingers curl around the steering wheel tightly, coiled like a snake, tendons showing. He looks forward again, and lets out a breath of air, defeated.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and it's the first time I've heard him say it like this, soft and sincere. Love, love is the word that comes into my head, but that's just a fantasy, nothing more. It's just a stale word.

"It's ok. It was a mistake. It won't happen again, just an instinct, a rash action. The emotion was just overwhelming me, I'm sorry." I can't believe myself, but I can't stop. The words keep coming out, and I'm astounded by my ability to lie through my teeth, to lie to myself and to go against my beating heart, fail it in the cruellest way. I don't feel _anything_.

"Yes," is all he replies.

I rush into the house, wanting to get away from the guilt following me, but it clutches my shirt, holds me back, throws me to the ground. I feel as if I'm walking into a road without looking. You know that you shouldn't do it, that you should have looked, but you do it anyway because you can't go back. Somehow, you know that you've done the wrong thing, but you just don't bother. You keep walking. The fear escalates, until you're shocked and you finally regain some sense of reality, but by this time, it's generally too late.

I walk to my room through the foggy mist that clouds my eyes, makes me drowsy. I wonder what I've done, because I'm lost, I'm lost and I can't find my way out. The unknown scares me.

Edward seems fine. He smiles and talks and moves as he has always done, unaffected by our episode in the car. I envy him, but also wonder if he really is that heartless. If he has any idea what was involved earlier on today, what he was messing with. He leads the whole evening. I don't ask questions, only agree to his suggestions. Sometimes he laughs, and I can't help but laugh with him because I think he's beautiful.

I contemplate whether or not to bring up the kiss again, but I fear it will make us close up and shut down again, become like robots, so I make myself stay quiet even though it burns me inside.

"What are you thinking about?" It was an innocent question, but I hoped he got the message laced with it.

"Me?" _Yes, you_. "I am thinking…" he trails off, leaving me hanging in suspense. "I am thinking that Jessica Alba is actually hot," he laughs, but I'm confused.

"What?"

"I didn't used to think she was, but I've changed my mind." I don't want to hear about his fancies, his taste in women. His answer was something I was not expecting, but it put me in a bad mood nevertheless. "Why, what are you thinking?"

I quickly search for a mindless answer amongst the real reply. "Nothing."

"No, come on, you have to be thinking about something," he turns to face me, crosses his legs on the sofa and give me a light punch on the arm. I almost want to play this game just so I can feel his skin again.

"I'm not, honestly." He raises one eyebrow, enticing a laugh from me. But then I quickly remember something. "How do you know Maria?"

"Maria?" His eyebrows furrow, giving me a perplexed look. "I don't know Maria personally. Why?"

"Nothing, I was wondering."

"Did she say something?" I'm in dangerous waters now.

"No, she just said she knew what you were like."

"You two talk about me?" he is teasing me now, I am sure of it. I smile, hoping it will soften him. "Well, I am a frequent topic of conversation among many people, Jasper, I thought you knew that," he says sarcastically, unable to be truly vain.

"Oh, believe me, you are," I laugh, even though the statement has more truth in it than he can imagine.

We muse like that for hours that night, the TV becoming just background music for this film we act out. I can't help but compare this to modern love stories, although they don't manage to convey the torture he puts me through unknowingly. I love him. I do. I want to curve my head against the crook of his neck and feel the vein there with my tongue, alive and pulsing.

******

He makes me breakfast the next day, hair still mussed from sleeping, still in his pyjamas. I make a new discovery that morning.

He watches me eat, as if he has nothing else to do. Occasionally, he yawns, only putting his hand over his mouth after he catches me watching. Secretly, I am pleased that he's relaxed with me, and I want him to do it again. Once, he stretches both hands high above his head, his chest widening. He looks so powerful at that moment, I can't help my eyes from meeting his form, and he doesn't see me because is eyes are scrunched closed and his head is cocked forward and to one side. It's almost beautiful. His top lifts, showing the soft ivory skin of his stomach, stretching over his hipbones, dusted with fine brown hair from his navel. However, two words are etched just above his pants in a Jane Austen type print. _Heal thyself._ I stop eating.

"Edward?"

"Yes?" he smiles.

"I didn't know you had a tattoo."

"Oh, well, now you know," he laughs, unfazed by my discovery.

"When did you get it?"

"About a year ago, I think. Carlisle and Esme still don't know about it," he snickers, as if he's keeping a big secret.

"What does it mean?"

"What, what does 'heal thyself' mean?"

"No, I guess, I mean why did you get it?"

"I...," he falters here. "I don't know. I guess- I guess it's just an important saying to me."

"Oh," is all I can muster, sensing this conversation is finished.

******

That morning, I bump into Bella again. She smiles at me, missing out the polite greetings all together.

"Jasper! Guess what?" she bounces.

"What?"

"Edward apologised and we've agreed to stay friends!" she squeals. I am shocked for a moment, almost disappointed, but it doesn't affect me as much I thought it would. I smile at her, wish her well, although I can't help thinking that something might happen between them again. The thought worms its way into my head- I wonder if she thinks that this is her second chance. This makes me uncomfortable, make my body stand on edge as I prepare to watch the next few moments between them.

Lunch has become almost a religious routine between the group. No one's absence goes unnoticed, which can be a blessing and a curse. Bella has joined, passed the unspoken initiation test. She sits next to Edward now, but Edward sits opposite me. He's not coming home with me today, but he promises this is the only time- Bella needs a lift home. I feel carefree, relaxed now, but the shadow of my love still follows me no matter how hard I try to press it down. I've learnt to suppress it when we're not alone.

I follow his body as he recedes into the distance, shrinking until he's nothing more than a speck in the distance with Bella beside him. A smile slowly escapes my lips, a strange contentment surrounding my body. I loved him first.


	14. Laugh

_I can only apologise for the wait you have had to endure. I do have my reasons. Enjoy_

_This is for Katie. _

* * *

_Laugh_

I'm drunk, too drunk on my own insomnia to comprehend fully what I am doing. My mind's a daze, I walk with idle legs, stopping to run my fingers against the wall leading to his room. I watch myself getting closer to his door, slightly ajar. The darkness does nothing to discourage me, rather shields my skin so I can't see my hands as they tentatively push the door forward. Touching the cool wood shocks me slightly, makes this real, although, somehow, I need to carry on.

My head spins. I can hardly seem him, but he's there, just a bump in the duvet. The clearest thing in the room is the piano, the contrasting ivory and ebony keys almost bright, almost like bearing teeth. I daren't go any nearer.

My face is wet and my breaths are loud as they cut through the silence. I'm afraid I'll wake him. I'm still touching the door, steadying myself, my fingers flush against the material. I can't see the tears in front of me, they make no difference to my vision, only make my cheeks cold. I can almost feel his hand on me, fingers trailing along my collarbone, and instinctively, I reach up to touch the skin there before pulling away abruptly. I feel stuck between reality and dreams, not quite in one but not touching the other either. This is something else. I can't give it a name, can't quite describe it. My body feels numb, and at this moment, I'm not sure what I want. I'm not sure of myself, and I wonder if I will ever find anything in this carnival of me. My eyes meet Edward, and I suddenly want his arms on me again.

"Jasper," he whispers almost inaudibly, but I'm sure that it wasn't an accident. I don't reply, just watch him. He doesn't move. I swallow.

"Come here." My heart beats violently, his voice almost a command. My hand leaves the door, then touches it, then leaves again. I'm unsure as everything flows through my mind, clouding my already frail ability to make decisions. I stay standing at his door, frozen.

"Please." I want to smile at his voice and somehow be enveloped in it, but I can't. Everything is thrown out of the window, all the insecurities I had earlier are shrouded by Edward as I tentatively go forwards, step by step, as if learning to walk. He doesn't move when I reach the edge of his bed. The sea of sheets stands before me, dangerously rough, but he's there too. So I start.

I move forward. One knee, then the other. And now, I'm on his bed, his hand calling me. I lie down; rest my heavy head on one of his pillows, sinking into him accidentally. The whites of his eyes shine, harrowing and eerie, not blinking. Then he notices my tears, and, still not changing his expression, moves himself closer, brings me to his chest. His arm drapes over my back, and the weight of it comforts me more than I could imagine, stirring my stomach and making me warm. My nose brushes his chest, and I inhale, almost forget to breathe. He's driving me blind.

Then his chin rests on my head, now he's surrounded me, and God, I have such love for him in this moment that it makes me hurt, makes me cry. Without a thought, my arm clutches his waist close. I feel him breathe, a slow rocking motion. Not a sound he makes.

I hold him as he holds me, surviving on the feel of his skin, and I think of him and life and love. I'd run after him for as long as he could breathe. Because, you see, we're not that different, him and me.

******

We're not the way we were the next morning. Grown apart, there was no need for me to break his hold, which, in theory, should have made the parting easier. It didn't.

But as I left, I felt lighter, reminded myself of the daisies behind our garden. I saw them when I ran from my parents, seeking somewhere to hide. Even in my immature teens, I recognised their pretty faces, marvelled at the way something so simple could look beautiful. Now, Edward's skin somehow connected with this memory, and suddenly, I yearned to see them again.

So I move through my day in a blur, last night clouding my mind. In my quiet moments, I take it out, feel it all over again and smile. Sometimes, I wonder if it's really true, but those are just fleeting thoughts. I can almost not believe my confidence. The sound of a glockenspiel floats into my head and I marvel at the way it fits, because nothing has ever been so _good_.

There's a part of me that wants to ask Edward about everything, anything but I have to stop myself because one wrong move could send us falling. Last night was perfect, and I didn't want it ruined by my need for answers. He's made me happier than I've been by far.

And now somehow everything I own has inherited his smell, reminding me of him all the time. More than anything, I just wanted to kiss him. I felt something, something changing, twisting, and my body felt different. I feel like a different person to what I was yesterday, and this scares me slightly. So I play his touches over and over again until it becomes madness in my head and I have to stop. Still, I'm unbelievably happy.

******

As I drive home, I have an idea. I was aware that it was deemed uncool, even strange, for one to like their grandmother. However, I learnt to throw all of that away when I was a teenager, for my grandmother was probably my favourite person in the world. I used to walk to her house over the wheat fields in the scorching sun with the sweat shining from my back after school, and just sit and listen. Somehow, she was always on my side, something that I found fascinating. She was incredibly interesting, a trait no one else seemed to notice. These visits strictly had to be kept secret, for my reputation would be ruined.

The drive to her house brings back all of these memories, and I smile as I remember how she always brought me freshly squeezed orange juice, her papery hands undeniably strong. She looks much older now; hair fully grey and fragile, hands stained by life and the sun, but her eyes are still bright. The smell of her house is comforting to my emotions, strokes them and tames them. Again, she offers me orange juice, but now it's from the supermarket, in a carton. It doesn't compare.

"Jasper, a boy your age should have met someone by now." Still, sometimes old-fashioned views did shine through.

"I have."

"Oh, well that's good. I hope you're happy. The cat died, by the way. Good job too, it was too old anyway," she waves away her words.

"My roommate is called Edward."

"That's a pretty name. I've always loved that name, ever since I met my first boyfriend. He was lovely."

"Edward was granddad's name," I say, confused.

"Granddad _was _my first boyfriend, use your head." I smile at her words, how easy this is.

"How's your mother holding out?"

"She's fine. I haven't seen her in a while, actually."

"I heard that you've found an apartment." Her ability to switch subjects was extraordinary.

"I found one months ago, grandma. It's Edward's."

"Actually, I do remember your mother telling me now. Well, I hope you're happy with it. It's about bloody time, your mother was getting worried," she laughs, so I laugh with her, and we're both so carefree. But she squints to see the time, her sight failing, and she talks of death so flatly, without a fear, that it scares me. Her hand shakes of old age and she's stared to hunch over ever so slightly, so that it's only visible from certain angles. It's funny how these things affect me more than they affect her, and I start to wonder how weak we all really are.

Suddenly, I feel an urge to tell her more about Edward, show her the way I see him through my eyes. I feel the way time is pulling her away from me.

******

I pull into the driveway, and I can feel the excitement rising through my body at the thought of seeing Edward again. I start to fiddle for my keys, but he opens the door before me, hair tousled over his forehead, almost panting.

"Where were you?!" he exclaims, before swallowing and regaining his composure, eyes darting around my body. I cock my head to the side and smile at his worry.

"I was visiting my grandmother."

"You didn't tell me."

"Well, today, you should have arrived much later." I move towards the doorway, hoping he would move to let me get in. He only shifts a little to the side. I try to pull my shoulders together, make myself as small as possible, but it's to no avail. My arm painfully brushes past his chest as I walk in. My stomach clenches, that sweet pain surrounding me so I almost close my eyes. I'm sure I hear him exhale, but my movement is too quick, and I regret it. "Why are you so early?" I swallow my emotions.

"My afternoon class didn't have a teacher, so I bunked." I raise an eyebrow.

"It's not like you to bunk. Or even say that word."

"It's not like you to not tell me when you disappear," he smiles so his face lights up, all lovely and shining, and I can't help but grin back at him as I fiddle with my keys and yearn to hold his hand. "Come on. I think we need a beer."

It has started to seem like all we do is drink beer, but really, I love it. Alcohol softens Edward's tongue, makes him more relaxed. More inclined to touch me.

He makes pancakes that night, and God, they were brilliant. Soft and sweet, with lemon and fruit and cream and chocolate. The taste made me sigh and feel whole. Some of the chocolate escaped, started to run down Edward's mouth, all glistening and gorgeous. I was mesmerised. It made me think of other things too, things I should not have thought. They made me feel uncomfortable, nervous almost, so I tried hard to brush them away.

And now Edward is laughing loudly, his sound ringing across the room, begging me to laugh with him. He loses control of himself, beer sloshing in the glass. The sofa suddenly moved, pulling me in as Edward falls onto me, still laughing wildly, his head in my lap. The feeling that rushes through me cannot be described. My instinct tells me to bend over, envelop him in my body and clutch his head in my hands, kiss him, anything to relieve the burning in my stomach. My muscles tense, even though I try to force them to relax, but now I can't breathe. His laughter turns into small chuckles, and then just the occasional snicker, before he makes no sound at all. And then all is quiet.

A change of equilibrium floats into the room almost suddenly, so that you do not see it until you realise. Everything is silent now. Even the ticking of the clock seems almost muffled, slowed down. Edward's eyes meet mine and his lips part. My fingers move slyly towards his jaw, slowly so he cannot see, and I leave my hand on his shoulder where I first touched him to cushion his fall. He swallows. I take my opportunity.

"Edward, you know what I did last night?" It was more of a question than a statement. He surprises me though, lifting his head from my legs. The cold rushes in, leaves me feeling naked. A groan escaped from his mouth, tired and exhausted of this, and he takes another swig of his beer, facing forward and not me. I watch as the liquid sloshes from one end to the other like a turbulent wave.

"Leave it alone," is all he says before returning to his beer and turning the television on. My stomach turns in a way I've felt many times before, and I blink frantically before drinking the rest of my beer with slow, meticulous movements.

"You were upset," he says after a while, his voice husky and deep. "That's all."


	15. Strength

_Fuck, I can only apologise. Shit comes before fanfiction, it seems. Sorry. This was all I could get out without taking much longer._

* * *

_Strength_

I have no strength.

My wasted heart loves him still, but it has no strength.

I feel like falling to my knees in front of him and clutching to his body, having him envelop me in his smell. I see his hair in my mind, bronze and whipped by the wind. My power of speech escapes me as he smiles. When he leaves his coat, I take it and bury my face, inhaling his scent as if it was my oxygen. Sometimes I start to cry and stain the material darker, forcing me to put it back on his hanger and move on.

He comes into my bedroom often, although he still knocks, but I don't want to decide whether he has fun with me. I feel too inferior to make that decision. I sit on his bed when he plays the piano and watch his back moving with the music, but he never seems affected when he finishes a piece. He's always there, smiling. It seems he only plays for me.

Edward hugs me now, every time he leaves the house without me. I want to cling on, but more often than not, it is me who painfully pulls away first and is left exposed to his face. After he leaves, I slump onto the sofa and throw my head back, exhausted.

I want to talk to him again, but he is busy most of the time. We watch television together, beers in hand, arms touching as the sofa sinks in the middle, but he falls asleep, sometimes on my shoulder. I'm selfish, rubbed raw from his touch, but I let him keep the weight on my shoulder, branding me almost gluttonous and not waking up until the last possible moments. He drags his feet to his bedroom. Sometimes I almost follow him, stopping myself at his door. He never closes it when I'm outside. I'm left standing, watching as he slides into bed with not as much as a goodbye. It feels like I'm rejecting him.

I ache for Edward. My days are spent wallowing in my sorrow as the bruises inflicted upon my heart turn to yellow. I watch as he and Bella go to the canteen, go to his car, go to their next lesson. But I'm with him at home. With his body restored, it's good to see him once more.

I move around my room, unconsciously walking. My eyes are in despair, unfocused as I think of him with his skin and his cheeks. He returns late tonight.

A ring stops me. Someone is at the door.

Through my tear-stained cheeks, I wonder whether to open it. But the visitor is insistent with their ringing, and soon, I can't take it anymore and throw the door open.

Maria stands, uncomfortable and cold, clad in only a wispy dress. The fabric whips at her body and her skin is uneven and rough from the cold. She smiles crookedly.

"Jasper." Her breath drips with alcohol, and along with an expression of lust painted awkwardly on her innocent face, I can tell she's drunk. I wipe away my tears and marvel.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask, perplexed. She smiles once more, and her long finger reaches out to my cheek, soaking my tears.

"Maybe you can tell me," and with that, she brushes past me, her breasts on my chest, until I'm against the door frame.

"Maria," I warn. She places a finger on my lips and tells me to be quiet. Her eyes meet mine, pupils wide and soft, while she kisses me softly. Her lips are brutally dry and cracked from the wind, but they mould to mine and I can't help but follow. She moves me slowly from the door, shutting it, still touching me. My mind is too confused for me to think properly, and suddenly, I feel like I'm back, my body is back, like it was before I met Edward. There are no consequences, or at least I don't think of them. I can just feel her flesh and nothing else at all.

When we reach the bedroom, she pushes me away, leaving me feeling naked. I wait for the emotion to crawl back in, the consequences to make themselves known, but then I see Maria's sultry expression still present. She turns her head so she's watching her shoulder, stretching her neck. The dim light highlights the shadows on her body. She would be so beautiful to draw in this moment.

Her eyes dart to my figure before becoming downcast again as she runs her hands down her shoulders, pushing away the delicate strap of her dress. It floats silently to the floor around her legs. I swallow my guilt away.

She is uncovered in front of me, bare flesh for me to see. I watch her curves, and I realise that she's not Edward. I needed something more structured, angular. And just as I'm about to stop, bring a halt to everything and realise I'm making a mistake, Maria walks towards me and passionately kisses me, her hand running through my hair, lifting everything inside me as she presses me against the wall. My stomach clenches. I start crying.

"Jasper," she whispers, her hand flush against my cheek, eyes painfully sincere. I don't kiss her back; instead, she moves slowly to me again. And then I'm lost.

I fall over the edge. I let Maria lead me, unaware of what I'm doing. Slow, slurred actions pass me by as my eyes close and my head tilts back. Maria's kisses are numb- I'm not sure if they're even Maria's anymore. I try to imagine Edward, try to feel his skin on my skin, but it is nowhere near the same. Drenched in denial, I slumber around in my sorrow as she takes me. My movements dwindle as my hands blindly touch Maria anywhere, uncaring, unknowing of my strength. Her moans spur me on and tense my muscles, they make me angry and there's less restraint keeping me back down. I clench my teeth together, stretching out and then burying my head on Maria's neck. She pants; I feel her breasts on my chests as she clenches her arms around me. Her skin is powdery and smells like a woman- I take her smell in, unconsciously. My eyes close as the tears start, staining her skin. I heave myself from her, completely aware of my actions, my chest rising. I can see his face, his beautiful face in my mind. I see his back as he walked away, cold and hard to my vision, and I feel alone. His smell is insistent and I start to sob heavily; I can feel my face collapsing, my heart collapsing as the guilt drowns me. I can't shake the tumour from my throat. It's hard to breathe. I hardly notice Maria's attempts to comfort me. I've ruined my home, I can see it crumble to the ground, and I turn my back on Maria, curling up pathetically until my body is still and the day is aged, until Maria is nothing more than a sinister silhouette behind me.

******

She's still here the next morning, her breasts warm and soft against my back. _Alive._ My chest is hollow, without breath, as I prise myself away from her. Maria stirs, rubbing her head on my pillow.

_No!_

My neck tenses. I want to growl at her, tell her to stop- she'll rub away Edward's scent, but I manage to stop myself. It's useless anyway; she wakes, eyes opening under ruffled hair, and I can see the hurt inside her mind as I stand, naked and exposed in front of her. She smiles at me, but it's false.

"I'm going to go Jasper." I nod. She stands, graceful in her movements, and picks up her clothes. She does not bother to wash her face. I follow her to the door, where she turns and kisses me once more, soft and true on the lips, before she turns her back. My eyes follow her until I can no longer see her. I see the whites of Edward's eyes. They penetrate through me.

I watch the horizon before I walk in, the cold wind kissing my neck.


	16. NOTICE

Okay, I couldn't leave you standing any longer. Sorry for this false notice also.

I WILL finish this story, don't worry. I'm not too sure when, but I just wanted you guys to know that I haven't given up yet, it's just things happen and BIG wasn't at the top of my list. Again, I'm reeeaally sorry, and I guess I'd just give up if it wasn't for you guys, so thank you for your patience. Hopefully I'll have another chapter by the end of the month, but we'll see.

Thank you!


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